


Paper Angel

by distantstarlight



Series: Season to Season [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Christmas Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Intimacy, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, POV Alternating, Possessive Behavior, Post-Reichenbach, Self Confidence Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:06:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost the holidays and the first Christmas after Sherlock's return. What will our boys get up to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Decorating

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write something sweet for the holidays. I love this time of year.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John decides that something needs to be done.

Captain John Hamish Watson, MD woke on the morning of December 20th with the feeling that life was never going to be the same again. _He was determined this time. He was going to do it_. With military precision he removed himself from his bed, marched to the bathroom to prepare himself. He was a soldier after all. He had no fear of dangerous situations.

 He wasn't a visually imposing man. He was relatively short for a soldier but he had a quiet capability about him that escaped most observers. He was strong, committed and very determined. He wasn't perturbed about conventions. John wasn't that sort of man. He was the sort of man that saw a dangerous or unstable situation and said, “Oh god yes.” and went right for it.

John showered carefully before drying off and standing in front of the mirror to shave. He inspected his face, cataloging all the pluses and minuses he could see, coming up very heavy on the minus side. His blond hair was crisply cut and neat but filled with a fair amount of gray. His face wasn't unattractive but his skin wasn't smooth and perfect. He'd spent a lot of time in the desert and it was pitted with a thousand tiny scars from sandstorms he'd endured. The only plus there was the subtle gold in his skin from the tan that refused to fade completely. All his features were plain and ordinary. _Standard issue blue eyes. One overgenerous and almost pointy nose. Two normal proportioned cheeks. One pair of thin and somehow continuously dry lips. A faint cleft in an otherwise ordinary chin_.

 John sighed at his imperfections but shaved himself steadily until his face was as smooth as he could make it. The straight razor scraped across his cheek with a soapy slither as he deftly navigated his own contours. Once the last of the soap was washed away John applied a very small amount of very lightly scented aftershave and examined the rest of himself.

 Again. _Average_. His chest was neither sparsely nor thickly furred, and bore its own share of gray. His nipples weren't large or small, brightly colored or pale. His body was fit except for an undeniably growing softness around the belly, but after four decades, two of which were in the military John wasn't concerned about his physicality. _Not really. Maybe a bit_.

 He stopped trying to suck in his belly and let it sag out the way it clearly wanted to. He poked it with a finger then dropped his hand to check the rest of himself out. _Ordinary and average from head to toe_. _Well. John had a mission and if ordinary was what he had to work with, then so be it_. He went to his room to dress.

 Sherlock woke up feeling lazy. He didn't normally feel that way but since he'd begun sharing a flat with John he'd come to appreciate the quiet moments. The long supple body of the world's only consulting detective stretched out to all points of his double bed like Da Vinci's _Vitruvian Man_ , pulling himself apart before allowing his long limbs to retract a bit and relax back into a more conventional pose. It was warm in the flat though a winter storm blasted outside. John was good about remembering to keep the gas bill paid and in winter he always kept the flat a couple of degrees warmer than most homes because he missed the heat of Afghanistan. Sherlock rolled to his side and closed his eyes, listening to John move about.

 Sherlock would never tell John how he'd charted his entire morning routine. Sherlock knew the relative duration of John's various showers _. If John was in a hurry his showers lasted only five minutes, just enough time to get decently clean before he got going again. If John was going on a date or had some sort of appointment or obligation he would shower for at least fifteen minutes._ Detailing himself Sherlock supposed. He made a mental note to find out later _. When John's boring dates didn't go well his showers lasted from twenty to twenty-five minutes. When he was stressed his showers lasted until there was no hot water left. Today was of the fifteen minute variety. John wasn't rushing anywhere but he had something to do._

 Sherlock wouldn't admit how much comfort it gave him to track John's activities. John had order and procedure indelibly trained into him, he was like clockwork, steady and dependable. Sherlock wouldn't admit that even now he was visualizing John as he shaved, wondering what faces the doctor pulled as he removed one strip of whiskers after another. He wouldn't tell John either how he'd collected bits of John's saliva as samples from his toothbrush and over time had gathered a small case worth of slides filled with other random samples of John's DNA. _His hair. Skin scrapings. Blood samples. Fingerprints_. All of these small fragments correlated to information in the wing of the mind palace that Sherlock had developed to hold everything about John that he'd learned in the last five years.

 Right now all that didn't concern the lanky dark haired man as he squirmed deeper under his duvet, _listening_. Those things were for when John wasn't home. John was home now so Sherlock devoted all his considerable observational powers to creating a 3D image in his head of what John was doing right now. It wasn't that Sherlock had _feelings_ for John. That wasn't possible. Sherlock was a high-functioning sociopath but it was important to learn how to fit into society and _observing_ John gave Sherlock many helpful hints on how to do so. _He was so very ordinary. It was fascinating_.

John marched himself to the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea. While it was heating up he turned around and steeled himself to clean the kitchen table up enough for breakfast. Averting his eyes he managed to remove whatever it was in a stainless steel bowl next to the microscope. The doctor gingerly transferred small bottles and other containers to a special tray he'd picked up just for this sort of thing and removed everything carefully before setting the collection on top of the fridge and safely out of the way. The microscope was relocated with a level of tenderness normally reserved for newborns. When the water boiled he made two cups and while they steeped John pulled on heavy rubber gloves, picked up some industrial grade neutralizer and cleaner and saw to the table top with vigor. You couldn't be too careful as far as he was concerned.

 “Tea Sherlock.” he shouted. He knew Sherlock was awake but having a lie in. Still, it was breakfast time and the thin younger man really needed to eat. John pulled out some eggs, cheese and a small assortment of vegetables from the upper portion of the fridge. _Who else had a fridge where shelves had to be labeled, not with the names of flat-mates but with warnings about toxicity and human remains?_ The upper part of the fridge was a strictly consumable area, not to be contaminated with errant science projects from his totally barmy best friend. Since there had been no response he shouted again, “Sherlock!”

 “Bathroom, John.” grumbled the detective who finally hauled himself out of bed. He knew John wasn't going to give up until Sherlock had eaten more than a piece of toast. The detective grouched endlessly about John's relentless campaign to feed him up but was secretly pleased that his best friend made such efforts at all. Sherlock was charting his own physical changes, not that John needed to know that. Sherlock's body was no longer frail and gaunt. He'd filled out until he was comparatively sleek thanks to John's determination. At least his arse didn't make up half his body mass any more. Slipping out of his pajamas but retaining his pants Sherlock pulled on his thinnest robe and went to wash up.

 Ablutions suitably tended to Sherlock graciously allowed himself to be chivvied to the table, knowing John needed to feel in control of the more medicinal side of their relationship. He was _a doctor_ after all and needed to feel like he was caring for someone. Sherlock was more than willing to help his best friend out by being the neediest, most difficult, entirely self-endangering, and reckless person he could be. It worked quite well for the pair of them. _Friends did things for friends, didn't they?_

 John was all business today and Sherlock hid a smile in his tea cup as John marched himself about the small kitchen. John was unbearably adorable when he was in military mode. He was attempting an omelet today. He tried every once in a while and Sherlock thought it was endearing. John chopped and sliced at all the fillings. He whipped up the eggs and grated the cheese. When all was ready he began to cook and like always he cocked it up completely. Sherlock made no comment when he was served a large portion of scrambled eggs mixed with lightly fried vegetables and bits of only slightly melted cheese. The toast was always perfect though, just like the tea.

They ate in silence. Sherlock crunched his way noisily through the toast, trying to fool John into thinking he was eating more than he actually was. “I weighed the plate on the digital kitchen scale Sherlock. Eat your breakfast. Don't just push it around.”

  _Damn_. Sherlock stopped ferrying his eggs from one side of his plate to the other. If John was stooping to actual _science_ to get his way Sherlock would have to think of some other way of defying John's food decree. It was ridiculous anyway. Sherlock had survived this long barely eating. Pure orneriness made him stop half way through the meal, resolutely dropping his fork to indicate how _very_ done he was. Sherlock didn't even bother finishing the toast but he did take his tea with him to the sofa. John said nothing.

John hid his own smile as Sherlock slunk away defiantly. He'd been living with Sherlock for a long time and while their friendship had taken a kick in the arse when Sherlock had faked his own death they'd worked past the worst of it and had gone back to their old ways almost immediately with only a few changes. For one, John wasn't going to let Sherlock abuse himself into an actual grave. He knew Sherlock better than the aristocratic younger man realized.

 Sherlock _hated_ omelets. They made him suspicious, like they were trying to hide something. He did like scrambled eggs because they were soft and easy to eat. John pretended to make filled omelets so Sherlock would get some vegetables inside him as well as some dairy. John also made twice as much as necessary, knowing full well that Sherlock would stubbornly only eat half at best. He ignored the arrogant sneer that Sherlock had given him when he dramatically dropped his breakfast fork and controlled a bark of laughter when Sherlock's hand snaked back to get his tea. _That man and his tea_. He drank more of it than any person John had ever met.

 The second thing that changed was Sherlock's attitude towards The Work. Gone was the playful attitude of old. He didn't get excited the same way when serial killers emerged. He also refused to go anywhere unless John came with him. He was so serious that he'd actually convinced John to give up his casual locum work at local hospitals to dedicate himself full time to being Sherlock's assistant. He'd told John sometimes they couldn't afford to wait until John's shifts were over and that was all it took to convince John. This had actually been a sensible change and their Work had been better than ever. They still had their bit of fun and Sherlock no longer got bored the way he used to. John was very diverting and Sherlock never noticed the hours or days that came between cases. Neither man brought up the fact that being away from one another for long periods of time was no longer comfortable.

 “I've got to go out this morning. I'll be back for lunch. Don't disappear.” John got up and placed the dirty dishes in the sink. Sherlock looked over, a small frown on his face. “I've just got to get some shopping done. You don't have to come.” John tried to look disappointed when Sherlock collapsed into his seat as if daring John to remove him even though John had _just_ told him to stay. Sherlock was a lazy git and he hated shopping so much he normally tricked others into doing it for him. The mere mention of going to the shops would keep him trapped in the flat for hours until it was safe.

“If I can use the kitchen table again I do have a lovely set of toes that need going over.” said Sherlock who was now pretending to read the paper. John hid another smile as he put his coat on. “No acid this time.”

“Good, though that was rather sweet when you tried to turn that last burn into a letter J.” Sherlock's cheeks pinked a bit. He rarely made mistakes when he was doing experiment. Normally when he burned holes into things like John's jumpers or his best date shirt it was on purpose. Their kitchen table now bore a wobbly “J” inscribed into its scuffed and marred surface after a flustered Sherlock had let his thoughts wander and ended up knocking over a tiny flask of acid.

 He refused to tell John what he'd been thinking about. “You wouldn't understand anyway John, it's far beyond you.” he'd said in his snootiest voice. John had not been offended. Most of Sherlock's experiments were way beyond John's comprehension, not that he was _unintelligent_ said Sherlock hastily to himself. He'd made the initial mistake of assuming John was of normal proportions when it came to his ability to reason but time and time again he'd been stunned with the perceptiveness and accuracy his flatmate demonstrated. Still, as far as _the experiments_ went Sherlock had immediately outstripped his professors while he went through the pretense of attending university. He didn't call himself a genius to make himself look good. He _was_ one and it was a mere statement of fact, especially when his IQ couldn't even be charted.

 John didn't mind. He tugged on his coat, sank his feet into the tall boots he'd gotten to deal with the snow in and shamelessly stole Sherlock's cashmere scarf as well as his gloves. “There's a hat in the Belstaff.” said Sherlock absently from the fridge. He was pulling out a long flat container filled with a disturbing collection of toes. They were all sizes and colors and John tried not to look at them. John dug through the capacious pockets of the Belstaff until he came across a finely knitted woolen hat. It was dark blue just like Sherlock's scarf and fit John perfectly. Sherlock was laying the toes out on a different tray in order of size. “Milk. Jammy Dodgers.”

 “This little piggy went to market.” muttered John as he stomped his way down the stairs. He paused only long enough to give Mrs. Hudson a kiss and ask if she needed anything. She gave him a small list and another kiss on the cheek then John was off. Winter smacked him full in the face as soon as the door whipped open but _nothing_ stopped a determined Watson.

 The streets were nearly empty of vehicles except for public transportation. The snows were too heavy and parking was difficult with snowdrifts to take up the limited space and it was a mess. John loved it. He didn't care for the cold but bludgeoning his way through the snow was satisfying in its own way and he had a mission. John walked carefully, not wanting to fall on his face. He made his way several blocks until he got to the Tube. Once there he pulled out his phone and checked an address once more. Satisfied he tucked the phone away and caught the appropriate train.

John was gone for hours. It was well past noon before Sherlock looked up from the now thinly sliced toes to look at their ancient clock. Where was John? Sherlock took out his phone and tapped out a text.

 _Location. ETA._ \- SH

  _Piss off. Shopping_ – J

  _Ah. John was fine then_. Sherlock put the phone back in his pocket but it buzzed again. _ETA one hour_ \- J

  _Good_. Sherlock was feeling peckish and it was past time for John to make his lunch. Sherlock was perfectly capable of cooking. His mother had insisted he learn from the finest. He was a _Holmes_ and anything a Holmes did was the _best_ of its kind. He could have made John an exquisite breakfast of Eggs Benedict with a side of perfectly brewed hand-ground coffee if he chose but _he_ wasn't the doctor. It wasn't _his_ responsibility to see that they were fed and cared for. That was _John's_ department and if John was a simple cook then that was fine with Sherlock, who as mentioned previously, was very lazy.

 Sherlock heard the door downstairs crash open and Mrs. Hudson's warm laughter as she welcomed John home. She trilled up the stairs, calling Sherlock to come help but Sherlock ignored her. If John could make it from the shops so encumbered he could make it up the stairs. He could hear the two of them speaking softly and Mrs. Hudson titter before John's distinctive footsteps made their way all seventeen steps up to their landing. Then the doctor kicked the door until Sherlock abandoned his toes to open it. “Ta.” said a heavily laden John behind a large collection of shopping bags.

“Did they have a clearance sale at Tesco?” snipped Sherlock. John just dropped the bags onto the sofa where Sherlock was about to sit. John shook his head vigorously, dislodging a mound of snow that had built up on his head. It sprayed out and one chunk hit Sherlock's neck and instantly melted down into his barely robe covered chest. “Damn you John! You did that on purpose!”

 “Did not you big girl. Here, _this_ is on purpose!” John scooped a bit of snow off his shoulder, unexpectedly pulled on Sherlock's pant waist and dropped the handful in. Sherlock nearly punched him as the icy handful landed squarely on his genitals. John laughed rudely as Sherlock scampered away with another curse, his hand plunging into his pants to remove as much un-melted snow as possible. “That's for not helping me up the stairs when you heard me come home.”

 “ _Childish_ John. Very childish.” Sherlock was making a note to get near Mycroft with a handful of snow. John's sibling had taught him to fight dirty whereas Mycroft and Sherlock normally fought only using words and not snow. He now had a rapidly diminishing handful of displaced snow which he unthinkingly flung back at John.

 “Did you just hit me with your dick snow?” asked John in disbelief as the rude mess slid down his jacket front. Sherlock turned away, flushed with embarrassment. _He hadn't actually thought that whole course of action through very carefully. He supposed it wasn't on to reuse snow that had touched his privates_.

 “You started it John. You had no cause so you are reaping what you sowed.” Sherlock's only defense was the highly insulted tone of someone mortally offended. He still had his back to John and would _never_ admit to leaping into the air and shrieking like a maiden when another handful of snow made its way back into his pants and down the seam of his backside. John laughed so hard he fell into his chair weakly holding his sides.

 “Never...knew.....you....could scream....so _high_....” he gasped. Sherlock stomped away to the shower, removed his now damp pants and climbed into the shower to recover his dignity. He'd never roughhoused or played with his brother in this fashion. Even though he'd been startled Sherlock also discovered he was very happy. _He had fun with John. Fun_.

He thought about that as he scrubbed himself all over. _Being a Holmes wasn't fun. It was all careful rules and appropriate protocols. Being a Holmes meant refined manners and excruciatingly correct behavior at all times. Being a Watson apparently meant wearing any revolting thing you wanted, eating anything you pleased and dropping snow into your flat-mate's pants. John wasn't fussed about his appearance, especially given that he seemed to prefer those awful trousers and even worse woolly jumpers. That both made him look unbearably cuddly had no part of how carefully Sherlock had examined John's wardrobe and pants drawer. He'd been collecting data, that's all_.

 Sherlock swanned out of the shower with only a towel hanging off his hips, his laundry carelessly abandoned on the bathroom floor. John would pick it all up later, sorting the things that needed to go to the cleaners from the bits John would simply include with his own laundry. “Sherlock. Lunch.”

 _Finally_. Sherlock was more than peckish now. He dressed himself in all new pajamas, pulled on a fresh flimsy robe and went to join the doctor. “I picked up some sandwiches from the new shop past Tesco, you can have beef or chicken.”

“Beef.” demanded Sherlock instantly. It was placed in front of him next to a piping hot cup of tea. Sherlock ate quickly, “Jammy Dodgers.” he demanded again. A small plate of confections appeared next to a new cup of tea. Sherlock took them both away and sat on his chair. He ran a baleful eye over the large assortment of bags still on the sofa. John came over sipping his tea and began to unpack.

“We're doing up the flat this year and _you_ are helping me!” stated John. _He was using his modified Captain's voice, not exactly a command but brooking no refusal_. Sherlock had heard that tone before and immediately decided it would be pleasanter to just go along than it was to take a stern John head on.

“If we must.” he said sounding incredibly bored. _He didn't want this to turn into another of John's very memorable lectures like the whole skipping meals debacle which didn't bear mentioning, or worse, another repetition of the much used faking-your-own-death-is-Not-Good-Sherlock speech_. John pulled that one out whenever he wanted to browbeat the detective into doing something he really didn't feel like and Sherlock caved every single time. John was a master of guilt. He made Sherlock almost writhe sometimes especially when John made _those_ eyes! Those almost-sad eyes that were laden with near disappointment and told Sherlock that _you could do it if you really wanted to_ with a dash of tremulous _I believe in you, you wouldn't let me down would you?”_ Letting John down when he made _those_ eyes was impossible.

Sherlock wasn't looking forward to decorating. It wasn't interesting and since they were going to take it all down in a week what was the point? At least, he was uninterested until he saw the brand new staple gun John had purchased. It was heavy. Black. _Dangerous_. Sherlock coveted it immediately. It came with boxes of shiny sharp staples too as well as brad nails. _Oh_. John instantly frowned. “It's for the fairy lights. I bought extra lights _and_ I got garlands so I don't want to hear any moaning about how the flat looks when we're done! We're doing the whole place up.”

“Oh, very well John.” groaned Sherlock, trying to sound disgruntled. John turned away suddenly to hide yet another smile. He _knew_ Sherlock would not be able to resist the staple gun. It was too harmful not to tempt the eccentric scientist.

John knew his friend very well indeed and so he snapped, “ _I'll_ be using the staple gun Sherlock, thank you very much. I can't trust how you'll place all the decorations. If I let you do it you'll just tack everything up any old way.” Sherlock snatched the gun up instantly and made off with a bag of garlands, scowling ferociously over his shoulder. The detective began sorting out all the different items to be hung and arranged everything according to a complex design he thought up. “ _Fine_ , then I'll do the tree. Don't ruin anything!”

“Yes _yes_ John. Cease your inane prattling. Go back to hanging those abysmally cheerful novelty ornaments on the so-called tree. If you were going to trim a tree this year why didn't you just get a real one instead of an artificial one, and why so small?” Sherlock griped automatically, completely absorbed in sorting the delightfully shiny garlands and lights out into long strands on the floor. He'd moved the coffee table, stuffing it under the kitchen table to get it out of the way. He hummed to himself as he inspected all the glittery things in front of him. Sherlock was almost dreamy when he selected the first garland and John swore he heard a quickly stifled moan when the gun punched that very first staple into the wood.

John decorated the small artificial tree. It wasn't much but then they didn't really have a lot of room in the flat for a tree that went on the floor. They'd have to remove at least one major furnishing whereas the miniature fake was actually quite fetching. Sherlock like always could practically hear John's thoughts and responded. “Just like you John. Short and cute.”

“Shut it Sherlock. You don't get to compliment me and insult me at the same time you brilliant git.”

“So much anger from _Santa's little helper_. How long did it take to get to the North Pole and back?”

“That's rich coming from the _Sugar Plum Fairy of Baker Street_.”

“ _Sexual orientation slurs_ John? That's low, especially from a _theoretically_ heterosexual man who can't stop fondling his balls.”

John had just about begun hanging a set of glass baubles and had been dithering about where to place them. He had one in each hand. Both were blue. “Blue balls.” he giggled.

“They're _frosted_ too. What kind of symbolism were you going for John? Mrs. Hudson will be looking at that tree and wondering if she's got new gossip for Mrs. Turner.” John examined the ornaments again. _Sherlock was right._ _Not only were the balls blue but they had disturbing splashes of white frosting dribbled on them that suddenly reminded him vividly of sp...._

Both men were giggling now and began to tease each other about the length of the candy canes and the thickness of the garlands. Sherlock hung the garlands with big arcs between each staple. When he was done he picked up a set of red Christmas ornaments and hung one in between every other loop. When John looked he burst out laughing. “Nice Sherlock. Not subtle at all.” Now their walls were covered in a very festive looking sets of cock and balls, one set every few feet. Sherlock laughed and John elbowed him.

John handed Sherlock another bag. The lights were inside so Sherlock took care to wind them over the mantle, the television and all over the living room. John had selected LEDs with adjustable colors and flash patterns. “You know John, we should keep these up. They'd make better lighting for movie nights. Not too bright and not too dim. Just like you.”

“Oh _ouch_. I guess this is a good time for your dim bulb to point out that you've strung everything backwards and now you can't plug it in.” Sherlock's head whipped around. Sure enough he'd done exactly that. While John went back to decorating his tree Sherlock arduously undid all his work and redid it, this time plugging the lights in first. He didn't mind too much because he got to reuse the staple gun to attach the fairy lights back to their new positions.

“Done. I win.” stated John. His tree sat on the kitchen table. A green extension cord ran off to the wall and the entire tree twinkled merrily, the tiny lights illuminating the dozens of miniature ornaments John had gotten.

“You should have _said_ it was a competition John. You can't win if you don't properly inform your opponent. That's cheating.” Sherlock sounded pouty. “Besides, I would have won if I hadn't needed to restring the lights.”

“All I heard was you proving how much I won. I deserve a treat.” John ate the last Jammy Dodger as Sherlock stomped over. John gave Sherlock a crumb-coated grin when the detective scowled down at him.

“John that was _mine!_ You should have said it was the prize _and_ you should have said we were competing. You're totally out of line. _What the devil is that?_ ” Sherlock's petulant tantrum was completely derailed when he looked at the tree.

It was covered with a bizarre assortment of odd items. Silver strands that ran all over the tree were made up of tiny silvery handcuffs linked together. There were tiny microscopes and magnifying glasses, as well as stethoscopes, tiny handguns and little strands of colorful thread bore small deerstalkers in different colors but the item that stopped Sherlock was the angel on top. It was clearly hand-made and the little paper angel body was topped with a cut-out picture of Sherlock.

“I had the kid down at the printer's whip me up a copy then I went to the book store where they were doing Christmas Crafts with the community today. I made the angel after I found all these ornaments for sale there. All of them are hand-made by a fan of our blog. Practically like they were custom made for us!” John sounded shy and proud. Sherlock was almost speechless.

His deep baritone voice was soft. “You made me _an angel?_ ” he sounded stunned and couldn't stop staring at it. It was simple. It was a basic paper tube funnel with angel wing shaped bits of paper glued to the back. It was very neatly assembled and there were even angel feathers carefully drawn on. Sherlock recognized John's work. _John was a surgeon after all, his hands were steady and perfect for fiddly work like this_. John had gotten a picture of Sherlock smiling one of his rare true smiles and he looked peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know who made the actual ornament but it's just brilliant. Thank you for its creation.


	2. Dinner Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh the cuteness. The boys are beginning to break out of their little shells.

“Aw you _are_ an angel.” cooed John who promptly pinched Sherlock's cheek with hugely overdone affection. Sherlock smacked John's hand away and glowered ineffectually down at the grinning doctor. “Actually, it was the only craft they were doing that I thought I could manage, and I had this picture on my phone so really it wasn't planned, it just worked out. I went to the bookstore to pick up a couple things and it all sort of happened.

Sherlock was actually quite touched. No one had _ever_ done anything like this for him before. He kept staring at the tree topper. _John had pictures of Sherlock on his phone, pictures that he kept. John had been thinking about Sherlock while out doing his errands, he'd invested time and effort in making something sentimental. That he'd also managed to find all the little miniatures was remarkable as well. John was right. It was like they'd been tailor made for their very unusual lives_. Sherlock stood up straight. _He'd done nothing at all for his best friend and it was almost Christmas_.

“I suppose it's tolerable.” he said dryly and went to sit on the sofa. John putted around the kitchen disposing of all the packaging. “Tea John.” Five minutes later a piping hot cup of tea arrived along with two Jammy Dodgers.

“I bought two packets.” said John who flopped wearily into his chair with a soft smile. Sherlock bit his lip and stared into his tea. _John really was the best friend a man could ask for. Tea with two biscuits and Sherlock hadn't even asked for tea politely_. He handed John the extra biscuit. “Thanks Sherlock.”

“Don't mention it. You're starting to look peaky and at your age you could collapse at any moment.” John just laughed and grabbed the remote to flip through the less obnoxious channels, searching for something they both could stomach.

John was content. He'd gotten everything done today, his little chore list completely crossed out. The decorating idea had gone over better than he'd expected and the tawdry twist Sherlock had added with his salacious placement of ornaments just made everything better. Sherlock very rarely joked around and spending an entire afternoon in a state of extended domesticity was unheard of. He glanced over at the _world's only consulting detective_ who was eating his last Jammy Dodger in careful stages. John felt a huge surge of affection for his odd friend. Sherlock made every day interesting and John would never stop being grateful for their friendship.

“Play for me Sherlock.” said John suddenly. Sherlock looked over and blinked slowly.

“Of course John.” John _never_ asked Sherlock to play. He did however shut off the annoying television. John would normally sit and listen attentively if he ever came across the tall lean man lost in music but he _never_ asked. Sherlock suddenly felt like there simply wasn't enough he could do for the sweet man in front of him so he got up and swiftly prepared himself. Bow in hand he looked down at his best friend in the whole world, closed his eyes and unleashed the feelings he only showed when he was playing.

John was rapt. Sherlock's eyes remained shut but his body danced. The notes were pure and sweet, warm and homey. John didn't recognize the piece but truthfully he never did. He just enjoyed how it made him feel. Sherlock never seemed to mind how John stared at him when he played his violin. The strange younger man probably forgot John was even there most of the time but that wasn't unusual. John tended to fade into the background. _It was his undeniable talent, being human wallpaper_.

The music began to swell and grow impassioned. Emotions flickered with lightning speed across Sherlock's normally impassive face and John could not tear his eyes away. Everything no one ever normally saw raced across his unusually beautiful features. His large lamp glass eyes stayed closed, his dark lashes fanning out, flickering as his eyebrows lifted or fell. His alabaster skin flushed a rosy pink as he began to chase the music, his bowing becoming ardent, his skin popping with sweat. John's mouth fell open slightly and he forgot to blink.

Sherlock had never seemed more alive than he did at that moment. John could hear the storm outside blasting against the brick of 221 Baker Street. Sherlock's music seemed to take the howl of the wind into account and John felt the vast ocean of repressed emotion that Sherlock only allowed out when safely contained by notes. Suddenly John's chest tightened and he had a hard time finally inhaling. He gazed at Sherlock and found himself entirely unable to hide his own feelings. John sat there, trapped by the music and glowed with love as Sherlock played, blind and lost.

Finally Sherlock's playing slowed, becoming beaconing yet yielding. The notes were so sweet and delicate that John shivered as they caressed his ears. He found that he was almost panting. John felt like he'd played along somehow, like he'd been one with Sherlock and together they had made something beautiful. Sherlock was biting his lip again, eyes still firmly closed as his bow wrung out a final bittersweet note that sounded like a question. Now there was nothing except the scream of the wind outside and the sound of two men breathing like they'd both just run a race.

John finally found his voice. “That was _amazing_.” He'd said those same words so many times. They never failed to incite the same reaction though. Sherlock was slightly surprised and then almost painfully shy as he masked himself once again in austerity. John only barely managed to get his own face under control before Sherlock opened his eyes and looked right at him.

“Simple mechanics John and a lifetime of hand-eye coordination.” Sherlock set his violin carefully away. John sank back into his chair. John chuckled as Sherlock swept his compliment away like it meant nothing. Sherlock couldn't fool him. This was the second time tonight John had seen _that look_ that shocked searching look as Sherlock gazed at his friend. He'd _touched_ Sherlock and through his music Sherlock had touched back. It was a start and now John was ready for his next step.

The next morning Sherlock hastily ate his breakfast before sweeping out of the flat. “Just need to check something. I'll be back later.” he'd shouted to John as he clattered down the stairs. He shouted back up the stairs before he opened the door to the street, “Angelo's, lunchtime.”

“Make it half one.” John shouted back from inside the flat. Sherlock smiled broadly and left without another word. He strode through the streets, dodging left and right until he was sure he'd eluded Mycroft's ever present CCTV surveillance. Ducking down just the right alleys and jumping a couple of inconveniently placed fences Sherlock made it to the neighborhood he was searching for. This neighborhood was camera-free and Sherlock sauntered easily into a shop he was interested in.

Half an hour later Sherlock left the shop and made his way back to Baker Street exactly the same way he'd left it. Once he got close enough he allowed himself to be spotted and indulged in some pettiness by stopping at a sweets shop and sitting in the front window to enjoy a decadent slice of cake. He ate it slowly, relishing every bite. Once he'd done taunting his brother Sherlock bought two more pieces to bring home for later and made his way to Angelo's.

John was already waiting. So was the candle. Sherlock smoothed his features down and slid into the booth, edging slightly nearer to John than normal. John just resettled himself casually but Sherlock noticed that the two of them were an inch or two closer now. “I ordered already. I figured you'd want the manicotti since its cold out today. It takes a while but it will be ready soon. There's that garlic bread you like.” John smiled over at Sherlock and pushed over a lined basket filled with cheesy slices.

“Thank you John. It is a bit brisk today.” there was a steaming hot cup of tea waiting. John sipped from his own cup as Sherlock looked him over. _John had ordered the exact dish he'd had in mind. Even with the dessert he'd spoiled himself with earlier he was very hungry. He supposed it was the weather_. John looked at the bag he'd set on the bench to his other side.

“Tormenting Mycroft again Sherlock? How many times have I told you to let me do that with you?” Sherlock grinned at John. “Seriously. I love cake.”

“I got you two pieces.” said Sherlock. John smiled over, his lovely blue eyes twinkling with mirth. “Mycroft just started a new diet. It's hopeless. None of them work, or if they do, they don't work for long. He should just reconcile himself to looking like that slug character in that space movie you like so much.”

“Jabba the Hut? From Star Wars? Oh my god Sherlock. Mycroft would look just like that.” John laughed merrily. If there was something John and Sherlock agreed on it was that older siblings were wretched creatures indeed. Harry only called John when she was out of money for more alcohol or when her wife had tossed her out yet again for drinking too much. When she stayed with them she shouted abuse at Sherlock, reviling their work because it put her baby brother in danger. John and Sherlock couldn't agree whose sibling was worse because though Mycroft was always extremely polite when he spoke to them he also had a tendency to run roughshod over their lives if he felt they were doing too much or too little. His minor position in government allowed him to pull rank on them for all sorts of reasons and it annoyed them both.

“Harry could be that sand creature, the giant mouth one. She never shuts up.” John was laughing harder than ever and Sherlock loved it. He loved the way the crow’s feet around John's eyes bunched up tight. He loved the way John's mouth stretched open, baring his perfectly even teeth and giving Sherlock tempting glimpses of John's pink tongue. Sherlock loved the sound of John's laughter, always unfeigned, always contagious so that people at other tables smiled when they looked at him.

Sherlock had committed a lot of space in his mind palace for John. A lot was necessary to bear the knowledge of a vast complement of popular movies and shows, the solar system which Sherlock had relearned after John beat him in a game of _Trivial Pursuit_ , and a melange of other useless information that he kept because it made John laugh. _When John laughed the world was perfect and Sherlock was content_.

Their food arrived. Sherlock's manicotti was steaming hot and John was indulging in a rather messy Alfredo. He shamelessly tucked a large napkin into his collar. “I don't want to go about later with sketchy looking sauce dripped all over my jumper.” he stated. Sherlock almost spit up his tea when the thought of what the creamy sauce would look like dripping down John's chin and onto his shirt.

“Good idea John.” said Sherlock in a voice steadier than it might have been. Sherlock neatly shook out another napkin and followed John's example. “It feels strange.” he said after a moment's consideration.

“As strange as looking like you had an alien burst from your chest?” asked John facetiously as he tucked into his meal. Sherlock shook his head as he recognized yet another pop culture reference.

Sherlock looked down at his plate. The manicotti was drizzled with sauce and had a large amount of baked cheese on top. It also bore an unfortunate resemblance to the face-hugging parasites. “Is this a ploy to implant me John?” asked Sherlock looking pointedly down at his plate.

John swallowed his mouthful hastily and started coughing. “Don't shout out comments like that Sherlock. Now everyone is looking at us strangely.” Sherlock glanced around. Sure enough there was a large amount of discrete glances being thrown at them from all the surrounding tables and nearby booths. He reconsidered what he'd just said so loudly. John was blushing profusely.

 


	3. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have a nice time together and it leads to some interesting discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of ideas about why John and Sherlock are as they are. Comments are always welcome.

“You mean they're staring at two men having an apparently _romantic_ candlelit lunch with one another whilst one of them shouts out about being implanted. Yes, I see that I've caught their attention.” John's blush faded and he risked a quick glance around. People were indeed staring but what startled him was the _envy_ he saw when people looked at him. _He couldn't help it. He puffed up a little. He was with the breathtakingly attractive Sherlock Holmes over lunch and they weren't_. He looked over to Sherlock who was calmly cutting his food into perfectly equal bite sized pieces. John's eyes softened affectionately.

“Well if I were to have a romantic lunch time getaway with anyone I'm glad it's you Sherlock.” said John boldly, going with the moment like the brave soldier he was. He was rewarded with another faint hint of color on the detective's cheeks.

“Me too John. You are the perfect date.” Sherlock was a little aghast with himself. _That's not what he meant to say at all. John was now staring right at him. Sherlock quickly tried to play it off_. “Well, you're on time, you've dressed in your nicest date clothes, you ordered food you knew I would enjoy and my favorite appetizer, you're very handsome and extremely pleasant to be around. I understand why so many women enjoy dating you.”

John took this all in. _Point in fact he had not dated much lately. He'd had a few rounds of coffee with a nurse he had met but it already felt forced. She was interesting but not quirky and John found that he'd developed extremely rarefied tastes. It seemed now John was only interested in people who were tall, dark of hair, brilliant of intellect, rude, bossy, arrogant, uncontrollably sexy, and right in front of him. John had seen the panic in Sherlock's face after his initial comment_. He smiled softly at the detective. John ignored the obvious lead into his proclaimed heterosexuality. “You think I'm handsome?” he asked. Sherlock looked up from his plate and actually looked taken aback.

“Of _course_ you're handsome John. I'm sure I've must have commented on it before. Your eyes a lovely shade of blue and not too small for your face. Your gray hair makes you look very sharp and you're very fit except for your tummy, but I quite like that. Even with your appalling taste in clothing you're very well put together and are a striking example of _the golden mean_. You're almost perfectly proportioned. All in all I'd have to judge you extremely handsome.” Sherlock looked back at his plate and began to eat. John stared at his flatmate, his own meal entirely forgotten.

“You like _my tummy_?” John looked down at the soft mound around his waist. When he looked up at Sherlock he was amazed to see a bright flush of pink on the younger man's face. John then realized he had just received a rather detailed compliment and hadn't returned it. “Well I've always thought you are gorgeous Sherlock, what with your skin and your hair and your eyes.” John trailed off. Sherlock was now the one staring at him.

“You actually _like_ the way I look even though I'm some strange cat-horse derivation of humanity? I look like an alien. A pasty one.” John blinked a few times.

“You _don't_ think you're handsome Sherlock? Really? You look like a model! You're _perfect_. You've got long legs and a flawless complexion, people pay huge amounts of money to get hair like yours. Your eyes...well....they're rather remarkable actually.” Sherlock was staring into his manicotti like his life depended on maintaining eye-to-pasta contact. He looked upset.

“There's no need to tease me John. I was being honest. You're just being cruel.” the pale young man whispered. Sherlock wouldn't raise his face and John thought for an instant that the lower of Sherlock's full cupid bow lips trembled. John inhaled sharply when he saw Sherlock was sincerely hurt and absolutely convinced that John had been teasing him.

John reacted without hesitation, reaching out and laying his hand tenderly on Sherlock's arm. “Sherlock I would never! I _do_ think you're handsome. In fact, I've never seen another person as attractive to me as you are. I quite like the way you look. Your skin is like cream and your eyes are mysterious and lovely, and the rest of you is....well, I like it.” John reached over and took Sherlock's hand, giving him a little squeeze. “I really do. You know I'm a terrible liar so all you have to do is look at me.”

It took a few moments but John waited patiently until Sherlock's eyes flickered up and over his face, examining and cataloging everything he read there. Sherlock sat back, pulling his hand from John's in surprise. “You're not lying.”

“No I'm not. I am a little upset though. I had no idea you thought so poorly of yourself. I'm your best friend. How could I not know that?” _John really was upset. Sherlock meant the world to him. If his best friend felt insecure John should have been the first one to notice, especially since he was a doctor. No one knew Sherlock like John did, not even nosy Mycroft. Certainly Sherlock's older brother could read both of them with a flick of his cold eyes but that wasn't the same as really understanding someone. With everything they'd been through together John was closer to Sherlock than any other person in the world_.

John turned and signaled Angelo. He got their meals wrapped up and stood to help Sherlock into his long coat. “Let's go home.” Sherlock nodded and led the way outside. “Walk?” Sherlock nodded again and both of them strolled through the icy streets, making their way one block at a time back to Baker Street. John was deep in thought and Sherlock seemed reluctant to speak.

When they were safely back at their flat John made two cups of tea. Sherlock sat on his sofa and refused to look at John. They sat in silence and sipped their drinks. Sherlock sat his cup aside and without looking began to talk to John. “When I was in my final year I met a man name Victor Trevor. He was intelligent, interesting, popular and for some reason willing to spend time with me. It was fairly innocent at first, studying, doing research, that sort of thing. That lead to meals out, evenings out and as time went by I discovered that he thought we were dating. You know me enough by now John to understand that I thought nothing of the sort. I simply don't think that way. Victor was very upset. He was angry with me. The last night we spoke he explained how he'd approached me out of pity, that he felt bad that I was so odd-looking and so hopeless with others. He told me how he'd tried to put up with my perverse interests but that he couldn't anymore, not unless I was willing to take our relationship to another level.”

“He put you down then made an ultimatum, fuck or he was going to kick you to the curb.” stated John bluntly _. John looked calm. He wasn't._ John's fists gripped the edges of his chair until his knuckles were white. _He was hazily wondering if Mycroft could find out where Victor Trevor was so John could pay him an ungentle visit_. Sherlock nodded shallowly.

“I didn't understand. How could I? I had no basis for comparison, no idea of what a relationship was supposed to be like. I barely understood the idea of having a friend. I said yes, thinking that he meant admitting we were dating to the people we knew and maybe doing more together, perhaps even kissing though I rather hoped not. He quickly educated me.” Sherlock swallowed hard and John was perfectly still. “Nothing happened. Not really. It got a bit rough but I managed to leave him in his room and after that we never saw one another again.”

“What did he do to you Sherlock? Tell me.” John's voice was steady. _Like a rock._ The cool voice of command washed soothingly over Sherlock. The tall man closed his eyes.

“He tried to kiss me. I wouldn't let him. The idea of tasting someone's saliva was rather revolting at the time. He tried to touch me but I kept moving away. Finally he got angry and tried to strike me but I'd been in training in various martial arts since I was nine and I was a bit upset at that point. I broke his arm and got out of his room with most of my clothes.” John's eyes shut and his mind threw up an image of a scared frightened young Sherlock clutching the tatters of his clothes together as he raced through the university grounds away from the man he had trusted.

“He tried to rape you.” John's voice was empty. _He was too angry to allow even a hint of emotion in his voice. He tamped the fury down carefully, saving it for later_. “I'm sorry that happened Sherlock. If I'd been there a broken arm would have been the least of his worries. I know at least three separate things I could have done with the implements on hand to make future rape attempts impossible.”

Sherlock twisted around to stare at John in amazement. “You would have _defended_ me? Victor said I led him on. He told everyone....” Sherlock looked straight ahead again. “The next day Victor told everyone that I'd begged for him and that after he'd had me he decided I was too hideous to take a second time. He told them he broke his own arm to get away from me because I wanted him so badly. Everyone laughed. That's when they started calling me a _freak_ right to my face.”

John growled out furiously, “Not only would I have defended you Sherlock but I would have gone around and punched every person who called you a freak right in their face! The only reason I haven't punched Donovan is because _technically_ she's a woman and I've never struck a woman in anger or for any other reason!” John got up from his chair and pushed Sherlock's legs up enough so that John could sit at the edge of the sofa. “You are _not_ a freak Sherlock. You're unusual and complex but _not_ a freak. You're beautiful. Fantastic. Amazing. You know I've thought so right from the beginning.”

“Not the beautiful part.” whispered Sherlock. His eyes were wide and John saw the vulnerability in them. He reached out and squeezed Sherlock's knee.

“No, not the beautiful part but you are. You're so very beautiful. Right from heaven.” John's voice was soft, sincere. Sherlock looked intently at his best friend. He could see that John wasn't lying and Sherlock just couldn't understand the impulses he was having.

“Would you kiss me John?” John sat back. He knew Sherlock wasn't actually asking for a kiss.

“Of course I would! I'd be damned pleased to kiss you.” He sat back on his end of the couch and watched the sadness in Sherlock's eyes fade away. Color came back to Sherlock's cheeks and a small smile quirked the corner of his mile.

“Too bad you aren't taller. We could give that a try sometime. I'll have to order some kind of step stool.” _Insults_. John smiled. _Sherlock was feeling better and John was happy all over again. He didn't like seeing his best friend down. It wasn't right_.

“Short jokes? You wound me to the quick. Just for that we're watching _Monty Python_ tonight and you are only allowed to make _one_ disparaging remark every fifteen minutes.” Ignoring Sherlock's protests John deliberately selected _The Life Of Brian_ because that was the one he knew Sherlock secretly laughed at the most. While the previews were on John reheated their meals, transferred everything to plates and made fresh tea. He brought it all over on a tray which needed to be set on the floor because neither man had brought the coffee table back from the kitchen.

 


	4. Naps and other things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are beginning to do stuff they hadn't planned on but nobody minds. Mycroft calls - nuff said.

They ate slowly, savoring each bite and teasing one another about the dialogue. Sherlock brought their dirty dishes back to the sink and returned with the pieces of cake and a fork. He handed it to John who got up, got another fork, and gave the second piece to Sherlock. Both men just settled into the sofa and continued watching the film, their laughter filled with hidden affection as they enjoyed each other's company.

Empty plates on the floor both men relaxed even more and giggled their way through the rest of the film. Sherlock was openly laughing now. John felt full and comfortable. He shifted around until he was half laying on the sofa, his shoulders braced perfectly in the corner of the sofa, the Union Jack pillow stuffed the exact right way at his lower back. His eyes started to blink slower and slower. Without meaning to John drifted off, startling Sherlock with a small snore.

Sherlock instantly lost interest in the movie. He had something _finer_ to watch. After shutting it all down Sherlock shifted himself carefully until he was turned about and very gently settled himself back down so he was laying on the couch. Gingerly he let his head drift down until it was on John's lap. John snuffled and moved his hand, dropping it right onto Sherlock's head. John's fingers instantly dug into Sherlock's hair, winding the locks around his fingers though the man kept sleeping. Sherlock allowed himself to simply gaze at John while he soaked in the warmth.

John shifted a bit. His other hand came up and rested on Sherlock's shoulder. Apparently this was insufficient because suddenly John was moving all over the place, still snoring but also hauling Sherlock's unresisting body up until the tall man was splayed across John's firm chest, his curly head snugged against John's shoulder. John's arms cinched around Sherlock's waist, keeping him firmly in place but Sherlock had no intention of moving away. Instead he pressed his nose to John's neck and allowed his eyes to close. He matched his breath to John's and counted the heartbeats he could feel through his own ribcage and fell blissfully asleep.

They woke up several hours later face to face and entirely tangled together on the couch. They'd shifted and squirmed in their sleep until they were both laying on their sides, arms about each other's waist and legs slotted together. “You're a million degrees. I feel all sweaty.” said John blearily.

Sherlock shrugged, his voice thick with sleep. “You're on the inside. My back is cold.” John tugged his arm loose and Sherlock flipped around and then they were spooning. Sherlock sighed as the extra heat from John warmed his icy back. “Much better.”

“Okay.” said John sleepily. Neither of them seemed inclined to move or felt strange about cuddling with each other on the sofa. It felt nice and both of them were perfectly content to take what they could get. John nuzzled his face into the back of Sherlock's neck and tightened his arm around the detective's slender waist. Sherlock wiggled back until their bodies were pressed tightly together. John almost drifted off again except that the phone rang. John could feel Sherlock patting the floor, looking for it.

Sherlock read the text, still pressed against John. John read over his shoulder. “Mycroft. He's got a case.” John groaned and pressed his face back against Sherlock's neck. Sherlock smelled so good. Who knows when John would get to next enjoy such unplanned intimacy? He inhaled softly and committed the scent to memory. He was a little surprised when Sherlock softly said, “That feels nice John.”

“Want me to do it again?” asked John, still too sleepy to filter himself. _His eyes widened when he realized he'd just offered to smell his best friend's neck. He was even more surprised when he saw Sherlock nod. Well. He wasn't one to back away from anything_. John moved his face closer and ran the tip of his nose close to Sherlock's skin, not quite touching him. He inhaled softly once more and Sherlock shivered in his arms. “Good?”

“Very good John. I felt hot and cold there for a second. Can I try?” _Why not?_ Both men managed to shift around until John's face was pressed against the back of the sofa and Sherlock was running his nose over the back of John's neck, ghosting along and inhaling in short little sniffs. John had to close his eyes. He felt a chill rush over him and then a burst of intense heat in his lower belly. He stifled a small sigh when he felt Sherlock's lips press tenderly against the nape of his neck. “Thank you John. We'd better go.”

John nodded. Sherlock got up abruptly and disappeared into his room. John looked down at himself. He was a mess. His clothes were rumpled and his pants were a bit tight now. He heaved in a huge breath and took himself up to his room to change into something fresh that would also disguise the almost painful erection he was now sporting. Thinking of meeting Mycroft was enough to allow John to dress comfortably but just in case he pulled out his long winter coat. It wasn't as smart looking as the woolen jacket he normally wore but it would save him some embarrassment because John _knew_ the genie was out of the bottle now.

When they got outside the sidewalks had been cleared and the streets had been plowed. There was a discretely luxurious black car waiting for them. As soon as the door to 221 shut the car door opened to reveal Anthea the human extension of Mycroft. She was tapping away at her phone and not looking at them. They ignored her as well. Years of association had trained them all well. It took a while before they arrived at Mycroft's luxurious home. Not bothering to say farewell to Anthea who had yet to look away from her phone both men exited the vehicle and went inside the house.

Lestrade was there. “Hey Greg.” said John warmly. He'd always gotten along with the Detective Inspector. Sherlock did too but had noticeably cooled after Greg and Mycroft admitted they were dating and in fact had been doing so for some years. Neither John nor Sherlock could understand how Mycroft had become interested in someone as scruffy as the DI or how someone as personable as Greg could put up with the icy machinations of Mycroft Holmes. “You here for the case?”

“Not today. Myc and I were just getting ready to leave the country when this all came up.” said Greg genially. He led them back to Mycroft's private office.

“So my brother is delegating work to us so you can both fly off to the French Rivera.” snapped Sherlock. _He tried to sound as angry as he could but John was standing rather close and he smelled like tea and gun oil and for some reason that made Sherlock feel a bit giddy_.

“Pretty much.” said Greg, completely unconcerned about Sherlock's imminent tantrum. Sherlock had yet to visit with Mycroft even once without having a fit of one kind or other. John just grinned at Lestrade and stood slightly behind Sherlock, demonstrating his support of Sherlock's upcoming invectives.

“My dear brother. How wonderful of you to provide a distraction just days away from Christmas. John and I of course have absolutely nothing else to do but pander to the incompetence of the British Government and the sheep it employs.” Sherlock's deep voice was razor sharp and cutting.

Mycroft was sitting behind a medium sized desk looking every bit like an accountant, albeit it one who worked for a very affluent company because his suit, while unassuming, was clearly bespoke. Mycroft's fine ginger hair was swept back neatly and everything else about him was crisp, tidy and screamed efficiency. He was working through a stack of papers and barely glanced up. Instead he picked up a small handful of files and passed them to his little brother. “Sheep indeed which is why I called a wolf to check the fences. Someone inside has become a liability. There is no shred of evidence but I know it to be true. You've both been given top clearance. _Make the connections Sherlock_. Two weeks. Anywhere in the EU.”

Sherlock had been scowling but now he had his most impenetrable expression on. John winked at Greg who winked back. _Sherlock was intrigued. Still, John wasn't a genius and had learned to just ask questions instead of trying to follow along with the obscure way Sherlock and Mycroft spoke to one another._ “Two weeks? For what.”

“If we solve his little problem Mycroft will send us off for a lovely vacation anywhere in the EU for two weeks.” said Sherlock, already distracted by the contents of the first file. John hummed his satisfaction. That sounded perfectly acceptable if a bit generous. Strangely generous. John looked at Mycroft who was almost not obviously avoiding looking back. “What's the catch Mycroft?”

 


	5. Requests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems like things have picked up a bit between our fellas.

Sherlock looked up, a bit surprised before pride spread across his face. Mycroft looked uncomfortable for a minute. “Third file.” he said finally before returning to his paperwork. Sherlock flipped through the files and extracted the one in question. John leaned over his shoulder and soon had a scowl to match Sherlock's.

“Victor _fucking_ Trevor. Why the fuck would we help him?” demanded the soldier. _What were the odds he'd learn about this jerk the night before they had to take a case? Then John realized their flat was bugged again_. He glared at Mycroft one more time, the other man turning away ever so slightly. John was so torn. On one hand he had no intention of helping that asshole with anything. On the other hand taking the case meant John could get close to Victor and maybe get a chance to do some damage.

“You _know_ of Victor Trevor?” Mycroft smiled thinly knowing very well John knew Mycroft knew Sherlock had told him. John unflinchingly stared him down until the smile went away. Sherlock reached over his own shoulder to poke at John. John reached down and took the file from Sherlock who didn't even try to resist. John read.

John refused to respond to any more remarks but he did pin Mycroft with a rather fierce look. _Someone had hurt his little brother and instead of punishing that person Mycroft was choosing to help him. This wasn't the first time Mycroft had helped one of Sherlock's enemies._ John looked at Mycroft until he saw a flash of shame on the elegant man's face.

Since John had learned about Mycroft's rather devastating betrayal of his only brother to James Moriarty John had refused to share even the most mundane detail of Sherlock's life to him. John no longer trusted Mycroft and Mycroft knew it. John was entirely devoted to Sherlock and could not be swayed by promises of money or power. As John continued to stare shame flashed once more across Mycroft's face before John turned his face to continue reading the files. Sherlock poked him again, managing to make it affectionate.

It seems that after university Mr. Trevor had gone into the world and become wildly successful as a rather shady barrister. His client list was rife with criminals, many of whom were still walking free because of Victor's skills. John sneered to himself. _Of course Victor would choose to support other lowlifes_. He continued to read. Sherlock heaved a sigh, sounding bored. “Very well Mycroft. Run away with your paramour. We'll take the case. Come along John. Bring the files.”

John took all the rest of the files Sherlock shoved at him and turned away from Greg and Mycroft without another word. He followed his tall friend, flanking him protectively, eyes automatically darting about as they left. Once they were in a different car minus Anthea John resumed reading the file on Victor Trevor, resisting Sherlock's attempts to take it from him. “ _Not now_ Sherlock. Read the other ones.” snarled John. Sherlock took the other files without a word and did as he was told.

 _That was different_. John felt surly now. He took a minute to compose himself, once again tamping down his fury until it was a quiet background buzz. It didn't go away entirely but John was once again able to focus on the words in front of him. Mycroft's people were excellent. Every piece of Victor Trevor's life was laid out in front of John. He went through every single detail with care. This was a foe and John was a soldier.

John came to the end of the file soon enough. There was a photo of the man in question. John had read his physical description but now he could fit those facts to an actual image. Fury flared up again and John knew he _hated_ this man. Victor was blond like John, blue-eyed like John but after that there were no more similarities. He was tall, taller than Sherlock by three inches so that made him taller than John by eight inches. He also weighed almost thirty pounds more. He was incredibly fit, and upon examination John decided that the man not only worked out but might also be abusing steroids or other drugs. He looked predatory, his blond hair hanging insolently off his forehead and his piercing blue eyes looking scornfully out from a ridiculously attractive face. He looked like a well-groomed Viking.

Their arrival at Baker Street actually surprised John. He'd been so engrossed in Victor Trevor's file he hadn't noticed the trip. He secured the other files now abandoned by Sherlock and followed his friend out of the car and back into their flat. Once safely inside, John felt himself relax. He dropped the files on the kitchen table and turned the kettle on for tea. “You are angry.” stated Sherlock from the door.

“Yes.” said John. There was no point denying it. _Sherlock would just torment the truth out of him and right at that moment John had no desire to try and hide his feelings. One of them had to be open to emotions_. “Your brother has called us in days before Christmas to clear up a mess that should never have happened if he was at all competent and the mess includes the reintroduction of a person that hurt my best friend. Instead of remaining to offer technical support and resources the fat git is flying away with his lover for a romantic holiday and leaving us to deal with everything. Our flat is likely bugged again. That's the kind of thing that tends to make me a bit unhappy.”

“You don't care to help Victor.” said Sherlock after a moment of examining John's honest face. Sherlock looked almost mystified. He was also inspecting everything around him and extracted a small flashing device behind their mantle skull. John crushed it with their ashtray from Buckingham Palace. “Why John? You've never met him. He's offered you no offense. You've never turned down a case just because you found the client unpalatable.”

John looked right into Sherlock's eyes. “ _Unpalatable_? _No offense_? This fucker _tried to rape_ my best friend, and then got his kicks by labeling said friend in the most hurtful way he could! If Mr. Trevor had made the mistake of approaching us directly I cannot honestly state with any assurance that he would have left here intact.” John could hear the possessive anger in his voice but did nothing to hide it.

“That's not the only reason you're angry.” Sherlock began to really look at John. John felt his body draw up until he was at ease and allowed Sherlock to deduce everything. _He was too furious to hide for another second. Not knowing what he knew. Not knowing that his rival would soon be within arm’s reach_.

“Rival? Is that what you think John? I can see you do.” Sherlock sounded thoughtful. John's eyebrows knitted together as he prepared himself to be scoffed at and mocked for his feelings. Instead Sherlock stunned John right out of his temper. “Victor Trevor isn't your rival, he never could be. He and I never had a relationship beyond a tepid friendship and one unfortunate evening. You however, you my _dear_ John are absolutely everything to me. After all, I died for you and why do you suppose I'd be willing to do that?”

John gaped up at Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and made John sit on the sofa beside him. They'd discussed his time away after what John would always think of as The Fall. Sherlock had been gone for months and John had grieved the entire time. When Sherlock had come home four months ago John had been so grateful, so very grateful for his return that he hadn't even gotten angry at Sherlock for leaving him behind. Instead he'd babied the exhausted detective back to health, both of them wrapped up only in each other until Sherlock was better and let their lives resume like before. Now John realized that along with his unconditional acceptance of Sherlock's return he'd never questioned why Sherlock had done it. Now he needed to ask, “Why?”

Sherlock looked at John. His face was strangely tender, “For _you_ John. I did it for you. Moriarty was going to kill you, Mrs. Hudson and Greg. He had snipers on all of you. He was the only one who could call them off and he wouldn't unless I jumped. He killed himself right in front of me so there was no choice, _no time_. I would have mourned the loss of the others but I'd be as good as dead if I lost you. Molly helped. I survived and went right into hiding. I destroyed Moriarty's criminal network and came back. I came back to you.”

John stared back at Sherlock, his heart pounding in his chest. Sherlock's face was all John could focus on. He was astounded at what his friend had just told him. That strange tightness across his ribs returned. John looked right into Sherlock's eyes. “Would you kiss me Sherlock?” he asked using the same exact tone that Sherlock had used when he'd asked the exact same question.

Sherlock didn't hesitate though his heart raced and his nerves felt wound tight, “I would kiss you every chance I could John.” John was smiling at Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes flickered over John, searching for clues. John was sitting with his knees pointed at Sherlock's, his mouth was slightly open and his eyes were wide and almost innocent looking. “Would you like me to?”

John nodded slowly, still wordless. Sherlock felt his breath hitch and his heart thumped in his chest in a way it never had before. This was what he had wanted for so long and John had finally asked. Sherlock's arms felt heavy and his knees felt a little wobbly but the tall man managed to shift himself until he was sitting as close to John as he could get. Sherlock's hands trembled a bit and he wasn't quite sure where to put them. He settled them into his own lap, bent his neck a bit and pressed his mouth to John's and held himself still.

John didn't move. Sherlock wasn't doing anything. They sat there, lips mashed together, frozen in place. _Sherlock had no idea how to proceed. He felt uncomfortable. This wasn't what he expected really_. He began to pull back when suddenly John inhaled sharply and muttered, “Fuck!” and suddenly Sherlock was being expertly kissed within an inch of his life.

John dominated him. He bent Sherlock back and plundered his mouth, drawing all the sweetness and savor of the younger man deep inside himself, his tongue stroking Sherlock's until the detective was melting into the cushions of the sofa. John was making small hungry sounds and Sherlock could hear a distant rumble and realized it was coming from himself. John straddled Sherlock's hips, his mouth glued to Sherlock's as they kissed and kissed and kissed. John's fingers tangled into Sherlock's curls and yanked his head back, allowing the doctor to press feverish kisses along Sherlock's jaw and down his long neck. “John!” moaned Sherlock. He was overwhelmed with unfamiliar sensations.

John nipped and Sherlock let out a broken groan. “You're delicious Sherlock. You taste as beautiful as you look. I've wanted to kiss you for so long.” Sherlock was unable to respond because John took his mouth again, sucking on Sherlock's tongue in the most obscenely graphic way. Sherlock's whole body bucked and he shuddered from head to toe as a throb of heat in his lower abdomen began to burn fiercely. John released his tongue and sucked Sherlock's lower lip. Sherlock's hips rolled up instinctively and now John groaned as their erections unintentionally ground together. “Fuck. Stop. _Stop_ Sherlock or I'm going to lose control.”

John visibly forced himself off Sherlock and sat at the far end of the sofa breathing heavily. His eyes were almost black and his cheeks were reddened. “We just _made out_.” said Sherlock with wonder. His lips felt swollen and damp. He could feel the heat in his cheeks and knew he was blushing heavily all the way down to his chest. He could still feel everywhere John's lips had pressed, where his tongue had licked. Ignoring the other evidence of his arousal tenting up his trousers Sherlock sat up slowly, almost shivering.

“We did. We almost did _more_.” said John calmly. _He didn't look calm. He looked like he was wound so tight the slightest bit of pressure would make him fly apart. He was staring at Sherlock intently, like a raptor would stare at its target._ Sherlock looked him over and was grateful that John had the strength of will to pull away because Sherlock had no self-restraint. He felt confused and a little dizzy. John's predatory look faded only slightly as his breathing evened out. “Are you alright?”

Sherlock took a quick inventory of himself. _His heart rate had fractionally slowed as had his breathing. He didn't feel uncomfortable anywhere nor did he seem to be upset or revolted by what had just happened. If anything Sherlock felt somewhat smug. His first kiss had been explosive, but then of course it would be because his first kiss had been with John_ fucking _Watson_. He grinned hugely, “I'm fantastic.”

John grinned back and then they started to laugh. “ _Oh my god_ Sherlock we just made out like two _teenagers_! That was hot!” Sherlock blushed all over again. _John's face was so appreciative. He looked over Sherlock in a way that made the normally brash younger man feel weak and fluttery._ _John looked proprietary, like he'd staked a claim on Sherlock now. That thought made Sherlock feel all melty inside, much the way he'd melted into the furnishings just a few minutes ago_.

“You didn't mind? It wasn't bad?” Sherlock was self-conscious. He knew the first bit of the kiss had been awful but then, he'd never kissed anyone before. He was a very fast learner though and had mimicked all of John's moves with great success.

“It was a bit shocking frankly and I want to do it again but I won't.” Sherlock was taken aback and felt a little unhappy. John blinked and looked at Sherlock's mouth. “If I kiss you again, I won't be able to stop myself from wanting more. If I take more I won't be rushing, I'll want time. We don't have time because unfortunately we have a case. I don't want this case but we have to solve it because after we solve it we get two weeks anywhere we want. If I can manage I'll save doing all of that to you until then, when I don't have to stop unless you want me to.”

 _Well, that all sounded very logical_. “What about you hating Victor Trevor?” asked Sherlock softly, John didn't deny it!

“I don't give a fuck about Victor Trevor. In fact, call his arse over here and let him see us on _our_ terms. If he tries anything I find even remotely offensive I'm going to hurt him some way that doesn't show but will linger for _days_. I'm a doctor, I can do things like that.” Sherlock's whole body burst into flame when John said all this. _John was masterful, dangerous. John was threatening and at the same time filled with delicious promise. Even if John hadn't said anything of the kind Sherlock could almost feel a new label being pasted over the old label that defined him. He wasn't a freak. Sherlock was John's_.


	6. Delicacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock - bold as brass but still so fragile

Sherlock blushed yet again. He seemed to have lost all the control he had over his transport. John was still staring at him, his wonderful blue eyes filled with _desire_ and _happiness_. Sherlock had a question, something he'd wanted to ask for years. “Would you be my boyfriend John?” Sherlock's face was scarlet. He knew it was. There was no way his whole face could burn like that if it wasn't red. The term was so _juvenile_ but still. Sherlock wanted to drop his gaze but John eyes' wouldn't allow it.

“I'd be proud to be your boyfriend Sherlock. I was going to ask.” _He was?_ Sherlock felt bashful. He wasn't used to these sorts of things and he felt strangely buoyant. Even though he was shy just then he was also blisteringly happy and content. He didn't stay embarrassed for long. _This was John and there was no one in the world Sherlock was more comfortable with than John. He had nothing to hide from his best friend, not one single thing. Not anymore_. They smiled at one another and it felt right.

“Right. We're officially dating now. Let's get to work.” John nodded and that was it. John handed Sherlock the files and went to the kitchen to return the dirty plates that had still been on the front and to bring back the coffee table. Sherlock was already lost, reading over everything and making notes on his laptop. John dropped a kiss on Sherlock's head, “That okay?” he murmured. Sherlock nodded but didn't stop working. John smiled and went to make tea.

John called in an order of Indian food, just collecting it and setting it on the counter for later. He settled next to Sherlock on the couch with two cups of tea, picked up a folder and began to read. Soon he was as absorbed as Sherlock, both of them silent as they sipped their tea and went over the case. It took a long time but eventually John read through each of the dozen files they'd been given. He sat there and thought about what he'd read before he began to speak. “What I'm seeing looks like a pretty straight-forward blackmail scheme. The law firm Victor works for is hemorrhaging money in little drops. His partners have basically accused him of lining his own pockets because of his extravagant asshole lifestyle. Victor is insisting it isn't him. My first guess would be that Victor's chickens have come home to roost and one of his old clients or one of his client’s opponents is giving him the squeeze.”

Sherlock looked over to John. The case itself seemed incredibly straightforward, even if it did include Victor Trevor. Sherlock was positive Mycroft could have dealt with this almost instantly but for some reason had handed it off to the two of them. Still, John's conclusion was entirely accurate. Victor was a thief and someone had exposed his predations. “Well done John. I see I've rubbed off on you.”

“ _Not yet_.” said John who just picked Trevor's file to review the information now that he'd read it all once. Sherlock's head jerked up and John enjoyed the peripheral view he had of Sherlock's cheeks becoming flaming red. John sipped his tea and pretended not to see. _He was going to enjoy flirting with Sherlock who was oh so intelligent and informed but still deliciously innocent. John forced himself to not think about all the filthy things he was going to do to that innocent body. That was for later_.

“John. Really.” sniffed Sherlock, his now endlessly pink cheeks belying his offended tone. John chuckled and leaned back to keep reading. He spread his arm along the back of the sofa, not trying anything, just stretching his sore arm out. Sherlock had gone back to reading and making notes but after he leaned forward to put back one file and select another he shifted slightly so that when he sat back John's arm just so happened to be very nearly across Sherlock's shoulder. Neither man said anything but as Sherlock typed John's fingers wandered over and began to toy absently with the curls at the nape of Sherlock's neck.

Now John leaned forward to exchange Victor's file with a different one, pulling his arm away for just a few seconds. When he sat back down he flung his arm back carelessly, not quite making the back of the couch but resting gently on Sherlock who immediately leaned into the smaller man. John hummed with contentment as he held Sherlock loosely and both men kept reading without a word.

Two hours later they'd gone over everything several times. Sherlock had built up a database of facts and observations. John hooked up their scanner and copied in all the images they'd been given and set up a slide-show. When John's stomach growled at three in the morning he got up and reheated the dinners he'd purchased earlier. Bringing both piping hot plates to the living room John went back and fetched two fresh cups of tea. “ _Eat_. No arguing. This could take days and you're going to go to sleep soon so you can't complain about food slowing your thinking. Consider it forward planning. If you eat all your dinner now I promise not to harass you about food for two entire days.”

Sherlock eyed John suspiciously. “What about tea?”

John rolled his eyes. _As if he'd ever stop fussing over Sherlock every minute of the day_. “I'll make you all the tea you want and anything else you want. All you have to do is ask. All I want is for you to let me make sure you're okay while you work.”

Sherlock considered this. Finally he powered down his laptop and picked up his plate. “I may require toast from time to time. Is that acceptable?” John nodded so Sherlock picked up his fork and began to eat his dinner without another word. John smiled for a second then turned the television on just for background noise and began to eat as well.

It didn't take long before both men were sitting back, plates empty. Sherlock took John's dirty plate to the kitchen but when he came back he sat himself down so that he and John were pressed tight together. They sipped their tea and watched infomercials until the last drop was gone. Sherlock turned his head to look at John. “Bed?”

John smiled and nodded once. Moving with a casual grace that Sherlock did not feel the tall man stood up and walked to his bedroom, John close on his heels. Sherlock was tired but he was also tense and excited. John hadn't said a thing yet but Sherlock could hear that John's breathing had increased. He opened the door to his room and forced himself not to pause. Striding in Sherlock casually removed the various items scattered about the duvet, relocating books and stacks of papers ruthlessly. The sheets were pristine. Sherlock tended to fall asleep on top of the covers. John reached over and rolled the duvet back and shook the pillows out until they were all fluffy.

Still wordless the smaller man stood in front of Sherlock and began to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. He wasn't being flirtatious, he was just undoing the buttons like he'd done it a thousand times before. Sherlock tried not to react too much but all of a sudden he felt like he was ready to jump out of his skin. “Shh. It's alright. It's just me.” John's voice was unexpected but Sherlock instantly felt more relaxed. _It was after all just John. John had seen Sherlock with his shirt off many times and now that he thought of it, this really wasn't the first time John had unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt. This was just the first time he'd done it without Sherlock bleeding first_. “What would you like Sherlock?”

John was asking Sherlock what his next move should be. Sherlock's mind raced. “I don't know. Can we go to bed and hold each other for a bit?” Sherlock's cheeks burned again as he asked to cuddle. _Did grown men cuddle? Wasn't that what they'd done on the couch during their unplanned mutual nap? Would he never stop blushing?_ John just looked up and smiled his lovely warm smile.

“Sounds perfect. Come on then. Down to your pants.” Sherlock felt relieved. He was interested in spending the night with John but he wasn't completely prepared to be naked with him. This was all happening rather fast. Or slow. Sherlock wasn't sure. He'd suppressed his feelings for John right from the day they'd met so maybe they should just go the distance. Sherlock found that he was almost hyperventilating now and John was making him sit on the bed to try and get control of himself. “Hey, it's okay. It's me. It's John, _your_ John. Nothing will happen that you don't ask for. No rush. No pressure. Just sleep if that's what you want. We know each other but this is new, right? We can take our time and enjoy it as it happens.”

 _His_ John. _Sherlock's John_. This was one of the many reasons Sherlock could not live without his blogger. John smoothed things over, made things easier. He very nearly always reacted exactly as Sherlock needed. The times John did something unexpected was the other reason why Sherlock knew he was desperately in love with him. John was always something _more_.

Sherlock took a deep breath and let it out shakily. He managed to undo his trousers, sitting up just long enough to shimmy them off before sitting back down to kick off his shoes, toe off his socks and get rid of the last of his clothes. John simply stood off to the side and stripped himself down efficiently. He was comfortable in his skin and didn't make a fuss about shedding his shirt to expose a map work of scars that Sherlock's eyes locked onto. “John. You're beautiful.” breathed Sherlock huskily. His eyes wandered hungrily over the dozens of marks. John wasn't bashful but he also wasn't an exhibitionist. He normally kept at least a tee-shirt on, and Sherlock had only seen bits of John's stomach, and once Sherlock had seen the large star burst scar on John's shoulder.

“I was in service for a long time. I was on a lot of rough missions. Good thing too or I'd never been ready to work with you. A good number of these are from after I left Afghanistan.” John smiled over to Sherlock. The younger man's nervous symptoms completely vanished upon seeing John's scars. Now he looked like a kid in a candy store, his large jeweled eyes darting here and there, his lips parted as if he couldn't wait to taste the ruined flesh. John wasn't surprised. If anyone was going to get off on scars it would be Sherlock. “I'm not a prize Sherlock. I'm an old dog of war, wrecked and getting on.”

“I told you not to tease me John. You are _most_ certainly a prize. You're a magnificent specimen filled with stories that you'll carry with you forever! I can see your whole life on your skin and it's breathtaking. When we have the proper amount of time I'm going to read you from head to toe.” Sherlock's gaze was blatantly admiring. Still looking at John intently the dark haired man slide backwards until he was on the far side of the bed. He tucked his feet under the roll of blanket and laid his curly head on the pillow.

John looked at Sherlock and prayed he'd have the strength not to ravish his new boyfriend all through the dark hours of the night. Sherlock of course read this all off John's very expressive face, “John! You said only sleep if I wanted.”

“I can't help how you make me feel Sherlock. I don't control my transport as well as you do yours. You are incredibly sexy and I think I need a minute to just take it in.” _There went the blush again._ John grinned. _He'd never seen Sherlock blush as much as he had today. It suited him. His cheeks were pale and lovely. When they were stained with red he became something almost unaccountably gorgeous, a heady mixture of visceral sensuality and almost childish innocence_. “Okay. I think we can do this.”

After turning out all the lights except for the dim reading lamp John crawled into bed, settling himself close to Sherlock. He reached down and rolled the duvet up over both of them. He then surprised Sherlock by reaching forward and gripping him tight about the hips, pulling Sherlock close until they were face to face. “I want to kiss you. May I?” Oh. John asked. He wasn't just going to _take_. Sherlock nodded weakly.

John knew this might be a bad idea. Sherlock wanted to cuddle and just sleep but John wanted that mouth. Sherlock's mouth was delicious and perfect. His lips were full and soft and so very warm. John needed to feel that again. He moved his head forward and gave Sherlock a brief chaste kiss. Then he gave him another one. John then moved his head just a bit and kissed the corner of Sherlock's mouth. John kissed the tip of Sherlock's nose then kissed the soft patch of skin between Sherlock's eyebrows. John dotted little tender kisses all over Sherlock's face until he'd covered every bit of it and Sherlock was laying limp and boneless in his arms. “Goodnight Sherlock.” whispered John tenderly.

“Goodnight John.” whispered Sherlock back. John drew the taller man closer still and moved around until he was on his back and Sherlock's head was on his chest. Sherlock dared to pull his leg up and drape it over John's thighs. John reached down and hitched Sherlock's leg up until it lay across John's hip. The doctor kept his hand on Sherlock's knee. John's other hand slid up and down Sherlock's bare spine lazily. Sherlock allowed his eyes to close and listened to John's steady heartbeat. Sleep came almost instantly.

 


	7. Morning Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's only human and apparently so is Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case the tags didn't warn you there's some naughtiness going on.

The next morning began a little awkwardly. Sherlock's head was still firmly on John's chest but his hand had migrated into John's pants, and his fingers were wrapped around John's very hard cock. John's voice was rough. “Am I dreaming? I think I've had this dream before.” Sherlock didn't know what to do. _What was the social protocol when you woke up with your hand in your brand new boyfriend's pants?_ Sherlock was unable to move, paralyzed with indecision. It was then he noticed the he too was entirely erect and grinding into John's hip. John noticed too. “Okay Sherlock, either move your hand _away_ or at least _up and down_ slowly. One or the other. I'm dying here.”

Sherlock decided he was _never_ letting go so he began to gently masturbate John. “Would you kiss me John?” Both men suffered from morning breath but that didn't stop John from somehow twisting them both around until Sherlock was on his back and John was straddling Sherlock's hips once again, his pants pulled down just enough for Sherlock's hand to continue moving. John leaned forward and licked his way into Sherlock's willing mouth even as he took Sherlock's erection his small capable hand. Sherlock gasped “ _Fuck!”_

“Maybe later lovely one. Right now I want your come all over me.” Sherlock groaned. _He'd never considered what a filthy mouth John might have. He also had no idea how much it would turn him on_. “Oh, you like that Sherlock? Your cock just jumped a little when I said the word _come_.” Sherlock's cock throbbed again.

“John!” moaned Sherlock. _He masturbated, of course he did. He was a perfectly healthy male and try as he might not even Sherlock Holmes could deny the requirements of his transport. This was something so different though. So much more intense. He was rising fast. It was glorious, almost overwhelming. Somehow having John's hand on his prick was completely different than using his own hand. John was earthy and solid. John was deadly and gentle. John was sure and capable. John was glorious. John was light. He was John! Oh god!_

John watched, enraptured as Sherlock fell to pieces almost immediately. _He was gorgeous_. Sherlock's entire body arced off the bed as he came with a single deep gasp. John's knees left the mattress for an instant as Sherlock thrust upwards, trembling and panting. “You're beautiful. So beautiful. That was gorgeous. So perfect. You're perfect.” John chanted, wrapping his now slick hand over Sherlock's, tugging upward as he fucked Sherlock's fist. John had never seen a sight that moved him as much as seeing Sherlock's rapturous face as he orgasmed.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered opened and his fingers tightened infinitesimally as he tried to help but he was too shattered. John didn't care. Just seeing Sherlock come was all John really needed, using Sherlock's hand was just the bonus prize. Sherlock forced his eyes open. He couldn't miss this. John's head had fallen back, his eyes shut tight. Sherlock wanted to see John come, wanted to see his face as he orgasmed. On the upstroke Sherlock twisted his hand just a tiny bit over the head but it was enough.

“Sherlock!” grunted John. Hot stripes of come jetted out, splashing hotly onto Sherlock's abdomen and mixing with his own rapidly cooling fluids. John didn't stop but he did slow, riding out his orgasm until the last pearly drop had been coaxed out and John slumped off to the side to pant and sweat.

“We just had sex.” marveled Sherlock. He heard John chuckle weakly beside him. _Sherlock decided the sound of John panting after sex was one of the most memorable sounds he'd ever heard and he instantly locked it away in an audio file in John's wing of the mind palace to listen to later_.

“Yes. Sort of. The start anyway.” Sherlock reached up and grabbed a box of tissues from the desk to mop his stomach up with. “Sorry gorgeous, I should have gotten you a flannel. You got pretty much all of it this time.”

“Even though we didn't plan this it was amazing John. I feel different.” John chuckled again. John had been more than pleasantly surprised to wake up with Sherlock's talented fingers wrapped around his cock. That was one of the best morning wake-ups John had ever had.

“You are completely relaxed for the first time ever Sherlock. You should be able to think clearer now that all the tension is gone.” Sherlock was feeling very lazy but he realized John was right. All the sexual tension and clouded uncertainty was gone. Sherlock wasn't distracted by John the same way he used to be. _John was Sherlock's boyfriend now and they'd almost had all-the-way sex! Brilliant!_ “Imagine what we can do with two weeks of case free time.”

“Get up John. We have to solve the case. Today.” John laughed hard now but Sherlock was already pushing him out of bed. “Bathroom. Shower. Clothes. Breakfast. Case. Go.” John didn't complain. He just untangled his legs and strolled away knowing full well that Sherlock was looking at his bare arse. “Stop teasing!”

John was feeling very good. He used his bathroom time to clean himself up and shave. Sherlock was banging at the door. “Hurry up! It's my turn!” The door flew open and Sherlock dashed to the toilet. “You could have let me pee before you showered. I've been incredibly uncomfortable. I apologize but I'm peeing in front of you. I need to go and you don't seem to be leaving.”

“You could have come in the second the water turned off. I've been in the military forever. A million men have peed near or around me. I'll survive this. Next time just tell me, okay darling?” Sherlock had relieved himself and now hip checked John away from the sink to wash his hands but now he stopped cold.

“You keep calling me things. _Darling_. That's a first. Is this something _I_ have to do now that we're dating?” Sherlock turned to look at John. John just shrugged.

“I'm affectionate. I like pet names. I like cuddling and little touches. I'm very hands on. I don't know what your views on PDA are but maybe you should think about it. I don't want to get a scolding on the tube just for trying to hold your hand.” John went back to shaving.

“Hand holding is acceptable. Perhaps a discrete kiss. Don't expect alley sex or anything like that. When we're at home I would naturally like to try everything but out _in the world_ I think it's best if we try to retain some professional decorum.” Sherlock dried his hands, his mind beginning to wander to the case. All the facts he'd taken in last night whirled in his head. There was a pattern there. He could almost see it.

“What about _marking_?” John was shaving the last bit of foam away. Sherlock had been leaving the bathroom but now stopped.

“What do you mean, marking?” John looked at Sherlock. He rinsed his face after setting aside his straight razor.

“ _Love bites_ Sherlock. I'd like to mark you. It's a bit cave-man of me but I suppose that's part of being me. I want to mark you so everyone can see you're taken.” John was frank and Sherlock felt dizzy once again. _John wanted to mark him. John want to publicly claim Sherlock. John didn't want anyone to have Sherlock as if Sherlock were being heavily pursued. No one chased after Sherlock so what was the point?_ He asked John. “So _I_ can see it. So I can look at you and see _my_ mark and know you're mine. I'm very possessive Sherlock. Jealous. I don't like people trying to take what's mine and _you are_. We lead unpredictable lives. We can't say what will happen to us from one day to the next. I want to mark you and make you mine for as long as I can, for as long as we have, however long that might be.”

“Yes.” said Sherlock. He was breathing heavily again. _What was John doing to him? How did he now have the ability to take the strength from Sherlock's limbs, to make Sherlock want to kneel submissively in front of him?_ Sherlock realized that he was pressed against the wall, his head pushed back and his long neck exposed. “Yours John. Mark me.”

John began with soft little kisses. He nipped here and there gently, soothing each small bite with a lick of his tongue. He found a small spot on Sherlock's neck, right where his shoulder ended. It made Sherlock quiver when John kissed him there and when John latched on and sucked Sherlock moaned loudly. John pulled away and growled, “Mine!” before latching on again and sucking hard once more. With one final lick that was slow and careful John pulled away and kissed Sherlock's lips softly. “Look.”

Sherlock turned to the mirror and looked. The mark was small but vibrant. It practically leaped to the eye because the red-purple of it was so startling against Sherlock's almost perfectly white flesh. It was placed so that Sherlock could easily cover it with either his shirt collar or his scarf but if he felt like it he could show it off, show people he was desired, cared for. Sherlock was very pleased with how he felt about that whole concept. _Primitive but effective_.

“Okay, go cover yourself. I can't resist your ass forever. I'm only human. We have work to do and exes to aggravate. We'll call that ass-hat after we finish dressing.” Now Sherlock laughed softly. He sashayed away, enjoying the heated groan John let out as Sherlock disappeared into his room to dress. “That fucking ass!” he heard John muttered to himself as the soldier took himself upstairs to dress for the day. Sherlock smirked. _Even if he wasn't actually handsome at least John thought so. That's all that mattered_.

Another reason John was absolutely perfect was that he knew how Sherlock liked to work. After the detective slipped into one of his favorite suits he sat himself on the sofa and poured over the case files, searching for details that would help him solve this as soon as possible. John came downstairs in his regular slacks and a fresh jumper, this one with a giant puppy face knitted right into it. The doctor puttered about the kitchen making breakfast and not disturbing his lover.

Sherlock powered up his laptop and began going through all the images John had scanned in. He memorized faces and locations, observing everything, discarding details that were unimportant and hyper focusing on little oddities that began to emerge. The scent of tea made him look up. There was a steaming cup on the coffee table next to a plate of toast smeared with jam. Sherlock drank down his tea and began to absently eat the toast while he scrolled back and forth. _There was something here_.

Sherlock found he was sucking crumbs off his fingers and that both pieces of toast were gone and his empty teacup had magically refilled. He sipped some more. When he set it down he found that John was handing him his phone. “What?”

“Victor Trevor. Do you want to call him or do you want me to do it?” John's face was unusually inscrutable. Sherlock's heart gave a strange lurch. _He didn't really want to see or talk to Victor Trevor. Years had gone by but Sherlock hadn't forgotten the searing sting of humiliation he'd experienced the first time another student had looked at Sherlock knowingly and called him a freak. It hadn't taken long for the much younger man to discover the reasons behind it. He had been horrified and vowed never to allow anyone close like that again. He hadn't. Not until now. Not until John_.

“Y...you call. This afternoon. You choose.” John just nodded when he saw the look on Sherlock's face. The soldier set Sherlock's phone down and picked up his own. _The fury inside tried to flare up when John witnessed the flashback of shame Sherlock had felt and he wanted to rip Victor Trevor into shreds. This was a battle and there were a few things that John was simply made for_.

 


	8. Appointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting ready for company

John punched in the number and got a secretary for Victor's law firm, _Tobans & Associates_. John snickered to himself when he'd seen that Victor hadn't even rated a name on the masthead of the firm he worked for. He was cool but polite to the young woman, telling her in no uncertain terms that he and Sherlock would be available between 2 and 3 pm that afternoon. If Mr. Trevor still required their assistance he was to come by. John hung up _. Victor Trevor needed Sherlock and John, they didn't need him._ John gave their address but not their mobile numbers, leaving Victor no way of contacting either of them unless he came in person. He was coming as a _petitioner_ and John made sure Victor understood that. He'd have to plead his case to the very man he'd abused so long ago, and John would be there to watch.

Sherlock's shoulders relaxed after the call was made. John didn't draw attention to anything. He just got up and began to get their home ready. He wouldn't be able to help Sherlock much more now, not until they'd begun their interviews. He'd seen a short list of people that they might need to later. Victor was just the first. That made John smile grimly. With resolution John ran his eye over 221B and made a plan of attack.

All morning Sherlock worked furiously on the case. John made tea whenever Sherlock's cup ran dry and busied himself cleaning and organizing. “I'm cold John.” John started the fire and draped a lap blanket over Sherlock's lap, lifting the laptop up to do so. Sherlock never stopped typing. John kissed Sherlock's head again and went back to puttering around.

The flat was very cheery thanks to all the decorations and John felt proud as he tucked away all of Sherlock's resource books, feeling good about himself since he understood Sherlock's strange filing system of shelving books by publishing dates instead of topic or even author. Sherlock's toe experiment was still on the kitchen table and John debated for a second about clearing it away then decided not to. Let Victor Trevor stare at the glass jars of sliced toes that were steeping in some kind of fluid.

“ _John!_ Mycroft has given me access to everything he's gathered about the case. _Actual top clearance!_ There's far more on his secure site than there is in the files.” Sherlock sounded like he'd been handed the Holy Grail. John laughed but came over and sat beside Sherlock, daring to put his arm about the detective's shoulders.

Sherlock leaned into him, kissed John's cheek quickly, his eyes never leaving the screen. “Look. _There_. The bank deposits. You can see where small amounts of money are being dropped from various deposits into a tertiary account. Just small amounts, almost unnoticeable unless you look everywhere all at once just like we are right now. Just as you say, Victor is being set up to take the fall. Somewhere the theft stops but it all starts up again, all made to look like Victor has taken money from his clients and saved it all in this overseas account. Pedestrian but effective. Even if he's cleared, if this gets out Victor is ruined. His clients tend to be the unforgiving sort and even a hint of treachery will bring them howling to his door. Someone wants that to happen. Someone high up, high enough to pull these kinds of strings yet not be seen.”

“So, we use your methods right? _See and observe_. Our little interview today will shake a few details loose and then we can send the patsy on his way.” John sounded so confident that Sherlock once again felt strange inside. _John always believed in him, always supported him. John was always on Sherlock's side, even when he didn't understand the entire situation. In fact, John didn't care what the situation was, he just believed in Sherlock_. Sherlock wanted to kiss John again so he did. “Keep doing that. I like that.”

“ _Later_ John. Thank you though. For believing in me.” Sherlock looked down at the smaller man. John's eyes were blue and steady, his smile was warm and kind. John's arm felt deliciously warm around Sherlock's shoulder and although the man was so much smaller, Sherlock felt sheltered and protected. Still he was working so he looked back down at his laptop. “Tea John.”

John moved away with a small chuckle. He made fresh tea and set a plate of sandwiches next to Sherlock, all of them carefully quartered so Sherlock could eat them easily. The consulting detective was prickly about being fed while he was working but John noticed that if he put food nearby and made sure it didn't require a lot of handling that Sherlock would eat it without thinking. John decided to put some research time into learning how to make finger food. He glanced at the jars of toes and giggled to himself. John stood in the kitchen washing up the dirty dishes and suddenly he felt like the luckiest man in the world. Here he was, cleaning his home while his boyfriend worked. _His boyfriend_. Sherlock Holmes, _the world's only consulting detective_.

“John, I demand a kiss.” snapped Sherlock who was typing furiously. John rolled his eyes and went over to kiss him. “Go away now. I'm still busy.” Sherlock's eyes hadn't moved from the screen but John just grinned and went back to washing up. He went to Sherlock's room and stripped the now crusty sheets off. He stopped for a minute and had to breath deep. John had a lot of plans for this bed as soon as the case was complete.

“I'm throwing laundry in and telling Mrs. Hudson to expect Mr. Trevor.” Sherlock nodded at John and suddenly looked nervous. It was getting close to two o'clock. “I won't be long. Ten minutes at most.” Sherlock nodded and relaxed again. _He didn't want to be here alone when Victor arrived. He wasn't anxious exactly but beginning a relationship with John had thrown the normally self-controlled scientist out of his comfort zone. Sort of. John was the problem but he was also the solution. As long as John was near Sherlock could handle anything_.

John came back and Sherlock began to make a list in his mind of questions he had. Victor was in an interesting position with regard to the leak in Mycroft's organization. That's what this was about after all, not some tedious blackmail scheme. Somewhere along the line someone had gotten close enough to leak information that Mycroft had to someone Victor Trevor was associated with. Someone powerful enough to eliminate not only Victor but a large compliment of Victor's clients. Interesting.

“I wonder who's in charge of the super-secret government while Mycroft and Greg are off drinking fine wines in France. Can you imagine if Anthea was in control? Everyone would be required to be online every waking moment texting everything.” John was laughing to himself, imagining a government controlled by mobile wielding individuals driving around London in a fleet of black cars.

“John, you are brilliant! That's it!” Sherlock opened the image file again and scrolled through the photos. A large portion of them showed groups of seemingly random individuals, all of them texting. That in and of itself was not unusual. Sherlock checked the timestamps and accessed Mycroft's vast information system. With a little careful cross-checking Sherlock saw that everyone on the streets had logged into a large array of social media sites and had been posting innocuous seeming messages. When read across a large selection Sherlock noticed that many of the words were reoccurring in particular patterns. _Code_.

“I am? What did I do this time?” John took one last look around. The flat was as tidy as it was going to get. The lights were on, their tree was lit and there was now a basket of muffins from Mrs. Hudson sitting on the kitchen table next to the toe jars. Sherlock wasn't speaking. His fingers were flying across his keyboard and he was focused. John glanced at the clock and put the kettle on and set out an extra cup.

There was a knock on the door to the street and John heard Mrs. Hudson greeting Victor Trevor. John counted the man's steps as he climbed the stairs and turned to look at Sherlock as an authoritative rap was knocked onto their door. Sherlock didn't move or even blink. John grinned. Stepping over John opened the door and looked up, way up to meet Victor Trevor's eyes for the first time. The arrogant git looked John over. “Victor Trevor. I have an appointment to see Sherlock Holmes.”

 


	9. Victor Trevor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has to meet Victor Trevor for the first time.

His voice wasn't as deep as John thought it might be and it had a practiced sound to it. “John Watson, Sherlock's busy. Come in. Tea?” John opened the door and allowed the man to step into 221B. Without asking Victor took off his coat and handed it off to John without looking. Though John was tempted to just drop it on the floor he instead draped it over a kitchen chair, not even hanging it on the rack next to his or Sherlock's coat.

“Sherlock. Good to see you again. It's been a while.” Victor Trevor's voice was smooth and silky, confident and was flavored with just a hint of flirtatiousness. Sherlock's fingers flew over the keys for an instant longer before he closed the laptop and looked up at Victor for the first time. As soon as their eyes met Victor smiled enticingly.

“ _Boring_. John is my tea ready? Victor, sit down and quit making that face.” Sherlock snapped his eyes at Victor and John smothered a grin, simply retreating to the kitchen to make tea. Victor looked over at John and dismissed him as irrelevant.

“Yes to tea there Watson.” said Victor, sounding casual and friendly. John made a third cup, set everything on the tea tray and brought it all out. Victor was now sitting on John's chair and still smiling softly at Sherlock who was sitting on the sofa silent and expressionless. John served the tea and sat next to Sherlock. “The years have been good to you Sherlock. Softened up the sharp edges.”

“You are the only one who's gotten duller Victor. Thank you for the tea John.” Sherlock leaned over and kissed John's cheek. John said nothing, just offered Sherlock a muffin from the basket before offering the same to a now stunned Victor.

Victor didn't notice the offer. He was too busy staring at Sherlock and looking like he'd just been punched. John waved the basket enticingly, “No? Well I'll leave them here then.” he set the basket of disregarded muffins right next to Victor's equally ignored cup of tea and sank back into the sofa, carelessly throwing his arm over the back. Sherlock leaned into him like before, naturally and comfortable. “Tell us who you pissed off Victor and don't try to lie to Sherlock. Just spit it out. You only have an hour.”

Victor was off balance. Clearly he'd come here to use his seductive wiles on a theoretically still vulnerable Sherlock to get help. John had been an unknown factor which Sherlock was more than happy to utilize. John was completely willing to do what he did which was shield Sherlock from anything that could hurt him. Victor wasn't a quitter though and he continued as if John weren't there, “Sherlock. I thought you and I could get out and grab a bite, talk about the case. I really need your help.”

Sherlock looked balefully at Victor. “Don't waste my time. You now have fifty-five minutes to convince John and I to help you instead of sitting back and watching your entire world implode.”

“So, is John your boss or something?” Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Victor sounded jealous!_ “I know you Sherly, don't make me talk in front of a stranger. I don't know Watson at all. How am I supposed to trust him?”

John snorted derisively and Sherlock glowered at Victor. _Questioning John's honor was a mistake_. “Feel free to leave at any moment Victor. Obviously you aren't seriously interested in our help. John my dear, would you escort Mr. Trevor out. I've got files to work on.”

“Of course love. Victor, this way please.” John stood up, noting the pleased flush on Sherlock's cheeks when John called him _love_. John was secretly thrilled that Sherlock called him _my dear_ even if it was for Victor Trevor's benefit.

“ _Fucking hell!_ You are just as much an asshole as you ever were you fucking prick!” shouted Victor. “I need your god-damned help. People are out to kill me! Dead! There's been attempts already. I can't fucking leave. Don't you understand? I was followed. I know I've done shitty things but are you seriously going to throw me out to die?”

“Finally something truthful. John?” John went to the window to close the curtains. He came back.

“Three men, one across the street, one on either end of the block. Look like pros.” John thought there was something odd about the supposed hit men. Something in the way they were standing made John feel there was something off. He went right back to Sherlock, sitting close to his lover's side and stared at Victor. Their guest looked arrogantly amused.

“How the hell would you know that jumper boy? You watch a lot of TV or something?” _Victor was really something else. He clearly didn't like John for ruining his chance to woo Sherlock_. Sherlock was the one who snorted now. “Sherly, I came to you because I'd heard you were the best. What the fuck is this dog and pony show? We got three people watching your place, and I don't want to die!”

Sherlock leaned forward, his eyes snapping angrily, “You don't want to die yet you admit to knowing you were followed here, a fact you didn't confess until after you asked me out right in front of John! You are in a considerable amount of trouble yet you refuse to begin convincing us to help you, and you'd better believe, if you were referred to us you are in dire straights indeed. John and I do what no one else can do. If you truly want to live drop these pointless attempts and just talk.”

“Back in a tic love.” John pecked Sherlock's cheek and went upstairs. He quickly loaded his gun and a spare clip, tucking the clip in his pocket before securing the Sig at his back within easy reach. Arranging his sweater he went back downstairs. Victor was speaking to Sherlock, his voice seductive and filled with deliberate heat.

“You look the same Sherly but all grown up. I like your suit, it really hides all the flaws doesn't it. You look good.” Victor was up to his old tricks of knocking down Sherlock's delicate self-esteem. John had to pause to tamp the rage he felt back down. It had barely been within his control since the moment Victor had knocked on the door downstairs. Tightening his hands into a fist and clenching for a second John exhaled and went back to Sherlock.

“Flirting Victor? Don't waste our time. Sherlock isn't interested in you, your dick, your money or your job. You've squandered twenty two minutes.” John just wanted this man gone or at least bleeding. He sat himself down beside Sherlock who instantly laced his fingers with John's gripping his hand tight but otherwise remaining as expressionless as only a Holmes could manage.

“Sherlock do I really have to put up with your fuck toy? I never agreed to meet with whoever the fuck you are Watson. Why don't you take your fag ass out of my sight and let me talk to the smart one, okay?” John exhaled slowly and stilled. Sherlock let his hand go. Victor looked like he enjoyed delivering his insults.

 


	10. BAMF

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John. We love you so much.

Sherlock's voice was ice cold. “Victor Trevor. Forgive me for my rudeness. I do believe I've neglected to properly introduce you to _my partner_ , Captain John Watson, MD. When I say partner I mean John is my perfect match in every way. He's brilliant, intuitive, capable and unfortunately for you, entirely deadly. John my dear, no blood on the carpet. Mrs. Hudson would be furious.”

Victor stood up and kicked John's chair away. He towered over John and quickly fell back into a ready crouch. “I can kick your little ass all over this room and you couldn't even land a punch. I'm going to enjoy bloodying you. After I'm done I'm going to take Sherlock back to my place and give him what I've got. Say goodbye Watson.”

John just sighed and pulled out his Sig, pointing it firmly at Victor who stood up straight, entirely shocked. Sherlock smirked. “John is also an expert marksman and a heavily decorated veteran due to the large numbers of lives he both took and saved.”

“I kill those who need killing and put back together the ones that need saving.” said John, his hand steady and targeting Victor's forehead. “Tell you what Victor. I can kill you here, right now, or you can open your mouth and tell us why you tried to lure Sherlock out to be kidnapped by your associates. What could you possibly gain by taking him?”

“You can't kill a man in cold blood. I've done nothing to you. I'm a fucking lawyer! I could sue you for this! You can't fucking shoot me.” John shook his head at Victor's bizarre bravado. _His obvious abduction plan had so many faults. He was supposed to be intelligent, how did he suppose this would have worked?_

“John's a _double oh_. He can kill you if he wants. I'm not cleaning up after though. John this is getting boring.” Victor looked green and John's grin lit up the entire room. Top secret clearance had included some _very_ unexpected bonuses. John's promotion to the vaunted ranks he'd dreamed about was something Sherlock had uncovered while perusing Mycroft's secret files. He hadn't even had a chance to tell John. Sherlock had read the relevant file just as Victor had arrived. Sherlock and John shared a quick glance. Both men were proud and happy. John absolutely loved those movies.

“Sorry love. Victor? Your hour is rapidly going by. Are you certain you don't want to share your little secret with us?” Victor looked stubborn. His trap had backfired and his associates were too far to save him. “Let me explain my current motivations and goals Victor. I don't like you. You smell funny. I'd like to kill you and my lovely darling there has given me the okay. I can kill you fast or I can kill you slow, I haven't decided. After you are dead your body will go to the city morgue. We're good friends with the people down there and I'm positive they won't mind signing your body back over to Sherlock. We'll take you right back here and I'll sit in that chair right there and watch while Sherlock conducts experiments on your rotting flesh until every last piece of you is in little jars, just like the toes on the table right now. I'm going to give you for as long as it takes for Sherlock to complain about being bored again.”

Victor's horrified eyes drifted from John's face over to the kitchen table where sure enough distinctive pieces of different colored toes floated innocuously around. “Stop it. Just. Fuck.” Victor sank back into John's chair and held his head in his hands. “They have my lover. His name is Jake. Earlier this year I went to court to get someone off a drug charge. I do it all the time, I didn't think anything of it. Turns out this kid is the little brother of some drug king somewhere. His arch enemy lives right here in London and had set the kid up to take the fall. Now instead of being in prison the kid is out, the enemy is pissed and I've apparently undone some huge underworld agreement for moving drugs around. The kid was a pawn. A sacrifice. He would have been safer in jail. Someone shot him dead a month ago. Jake was taken two weeks ago. I'd been distracted lately. The money thing was happening and it wasn't me! I mean, yes I've stolen some money but not millions of dollars like it shows now! If I had that kind of money I would have the kind of help that would have prevented exactly this from happening! They're going to kill Jake unless I bring Sherlock. I was supposed to come here, get him to follow me and then let him be taken in exchange for Jake.”

“ _Bored_ John! His lie is boring _and_ unimaginative. It's all tedious. I thought this was going to be a challenge. We don't even need to interview the others. We'd better choose someplace extra expensive for our vacation. Kill Victor outside please. We can order in after.” John stood up, his pistol aimed at Victor's head. Victor visibly quaked.

“Alright _alright_! There's no Jake, there was no case. I was stealing. Someone just made it obvious somehow. I was going to take Sherlock and sell him to a client of mine who has it out for him. The client was going to help me disappear with my money as part of the deal. Those people outside don't work for me. They work for my client.” Victor looked sick again and couldn't take his eyes off of John's gun.

Sherlock still sounded bored but continued, “Better. That sounded a bit more truthful. So you were stealing from your criminal element clients and probably your contacts as well. Not smart but then you never really were. You actually thought I'd go with you. You obviously did not do a scrap of research or you would have known exactly who John was. Most of London does and I bet every single person on your client list does as well. All you are Victor is proof that even I can see but not observe and what I did not observe in university is that you are a pointless lowlife who is only finally getting what you deserve. Who guided you to me?”

“A girl I used to fuck. Her sister works for some government person, told her some stories or something. She knew you from her. I don't know much more than that. The sister is named Andy or Andrea or something like that.” _Anthea. Anthea's sister knew Victor Trevor somehow. She was the leak and not an insider unless Anthea could be considered a liability. Sherlock doubted it. Anthea's loyalty to Mycroft had been proven a hundred times over and no one could help who they were related to. Siblings were tricky things_.

“This is even more boring. I'm almost tempted to go back to fake Jake and start from there. I know who set you up Victor but you don't need to worry about that. Your troubles are about to be over.” Sherlock picked up his phone and John almost giggled when he thought of his earlier daydream about the new world order via mobile. “John.”

John got up and checked the window discretely. He watched as three different black cars showed up. All three potential hit men were snapped up and taken away. “Clear. So. Thai or Indian?” John aimed his gun back at Victor.

“Thai. Outside John. I'll take a trophy too if you're willing. The knives should be sharp. I used the sharpener they have at the morgue. We should get one.” Victor was almost wetting his pants.

“What did you do?” he whispered, staring at John and then Sherlock. His eyes lost all their arrogance and he made himself as small as he could in John's chair.

“I've solved the case, contacted the minor official in question, had your associates taken away, and ordered dinner. You are now _superfluous_ so if John feels like killing you he can. Maybe we can get his humerus John, the one I broke before. That would be amusing and interesting.” Sherlock thought it would look rather smart next to the human skull on the mantle. Victor looked like he was ready to keel over. “If you're going to wet your pants get off of John's chair and off the carpet. Pull yourself together man. Die with dignity.”

John walked up to Victor and yanked him out of the chair, strong arming him to the foyer. “You're really going to kill me!” moaned Victor in absolute terror.

“I'm actually going to break your arm and rupture your testicles.” said John conversationally before he kicked Victor in the balls with the toe of his booted feet. Victor shrieked and fell to his knees clutching himself. John tucked his gun into the back of his trousers, grabbed Victor's arm and broke it neatly over his knee. Victor screamed again. “Hush. It could be worse. I'm a doctor after all. I could have kicked you just a little bit harder and your balls would have swollen up so much you would have needed to amputate them. I broke your arm nice and clean instead of just fracturing it. You'll be out of the cast in just a few weeks and probably won't need physical therapy. Now. I do believe you own Sherlock a very nice apology.”

Victor couldn't speak. His face was almost purple as he gagged for air, his one good hand cradling his abused testicles and his other arm hanging limply by his side. John waited patiently and when he judged enough time had passed for Victor to be over the sharpest peak of pain he cocked his Sig and placed the end of the barrel against Victor's temple. Victor made a high pitched whining sound before stuttering, “Sherlock. I'm sorry for attacking you in university. I picked on you for fun. I thought it was a laugh and I'm an utter shit. I'm sorry I spread rumors about you.”

“Do you deserve what you got tonight Victor?” asked John encouragingly. Victor squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “No you don't. You deserve worse.” John broke Victor's other arm and the man screamed so loud Sherlock had to cover his ears.

There was a polite knock on the door. Sherlock got up and answered it. “The boss sent us to pick up a package. We have a doctor in the vehicle downstairs and a travel agent will be up as soon as we've made the pick-up.”

“Perfect. John?” Sherlock pulled the door wide open and stood aside. John dropped his arm, stepping back until he was next to Sherlock. Three black suited agents entered, all deferentially nodding their heads to the pair before lifting a weeping Victor gingerly off the floor and escorting him from 221B. John was grinning from ear to ear as he listened to the once proud man snivel the entire way out of the building. Sherlock took John's arm and led him back to the sofa, seating him as a small dapper man entered the room.

“Mister Holmes, Mister Watson? I'm Eric Swanson. I'll be booking your vacation for you on behalf of your brother, Mycroft Holmes.” John and Sherlock smiled at one another. This was a perfect day.

Two hours later over a late lunch an extravagant vacation had been planned and booked, flights arranged and even their luggage taken care of. All they needed to do was step out the door in the morning and get into the town car that would bring them to the airport. Mr. Swanson was polite, efficient and full of helpful suggestions. Sherlock encouraged John to indulge himself and after much arguing back and forth their Christmas vacation was arranged. Eric shook both their hands and departed.

John made them both a cup of tea and sank back into the sofa. “This was a setup wasn't it? Mycroft arranged everything.”

“Yes John, I believe it was. It must be our Christmas present. I got a case to solve and you got to hurt Victor. It was very thoughtful.” said Sherlock who was sitting himself right next to John. His eyes were bright and Sherlock had a small smile on his face. “John you were marvelous tonight.”

“Only because of you Sherlock. You figured all of it out and you didn't even need to leave the flat.” John sounded very admiring. “You are amazing Sherlock.” John kissed Sherlock softly. “Brilliant.” Another small kiss. “Fantastic.” Kiss.

Sherlock allowed his mouth to linger on John's. “You know you say that out loud.”

“Do I?” said John, still pressing kisses to Sherlock's mouth. “Care to help me with that?” Sherlock licked John's bottom lip softly and John allowed Sherlock's tongue to stroke over his. Both men groaned and Sherlock leaned back, pulling John onto his lap. They kissed one another lazily, just enjoying each other's flavor.

Sherlock broke the kisses of eventually. He nuzzled his face against John's jaw, enjoying the weight of the man on his lap, the smell of him and the warmth. Sherlock's body felt good, comfortable with itself, not awkward or ungainly but simply a body, one that fit nicely against John's compact frame. “Something has occurred to me John.”

“Yeah? What's that then?” John was kissing his way over Sherlock's forehead and hairline, working his way down to Sherlock's ear. Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut as he felt John's tongue pass delicately over the shell of his ear.

“We seem to have a lot of time before now and when we leave tomorrow.” John stopped kissing Sherlock. He sat back and looked Sherlock directly into his eyes.

“You sure Sherlock? We don't have to rush you know.” John was always so honorable. Sherlock smiled softly back.

“Tomorrow we'll be in Italy, in a strange hotel away from Baker Street.” John looked at Sherlock's face, normally so petulant and demanding. Now it was soft and almost pleading.

“You don't want to wait until we're in one of the most romantic cities around?” he teased.

“No John. I want it to be here, in our home. Our first time I mean. You and me.” Sherlock bit his lip and flushed scarlet. John thought he'd never seen anything as dear to him as a flustered and bashful Sherlock. John immediately felt protective so he slid his arms around Sherlock's shoulders and kissed him gently.

“I'll do whatever you want Sherlock, anything that makes you happy. That's all I want.” Sherlock's mouth opened a bit and his eyes looked a bit bright.

“There's something you really should know beforehand. You know I've never...well that is...I haven't had a chance to....” Sherlock stopped and took a calming breath before looking back into John's eyes. “Before anything more happens and before we leave I wanted to say....I wanted to tell, no I needed to say...John I love you.”

John was grinning. John was grinning from ear to ear and his eyes were bright and happy. Sherlock bit his lip again. Suddenly Sherlock was once again being kissed within an inch of his life, tightly held arms and legs by one very limber John Watson. Their mouths fused together and Sherlock felt like his entire soul were being drawn through his mouth and into John's body. Finally John needed to breath and he pulled away from Sherlock. “I love you too. I have forever. I love you Sherlock.”

  1. Sherlock's eyes filled. _He didn't know how to react. He hadn't expected this. He thought John cared for him, of course John did but love? John loved him? It was right to love John because John was so perfect in so many ways but John had said it. John said he loved Sherlock and it didn't sound like a lie. It didn't look like a lie_. John was smiling down at Sherlock from his perch on Sherlock's lap and John's eyes looked teary and happy. _Was John crying? Was John moved to tears because of what they'd just said to one another?_



“Idiot.” said John affectionately. “How can someone as smart as you doubt themselves so much? Yes, I love you. You're brilliant. A shining star. A beautiful person. Sexy.”

“I'm not sexy. I'm all arms and legs.” Sherlock knew very well what was wrong with his body. It was all stretched out and too thin. John was incredible. His arms and legs were perfect. John's body was strong and hard, everything about him was warm and solid. Sherlock felt strange knowing that John seemed to not mind how awfully Sherlock was put together.

“Miles of leg and yards of arm. _So_ fucking sexy. I'm a lucky man.” _John liked that? That's what John thought was sexy?_

“I'm thin as a rail and all my bones stick out.” stated Sherlock, needing to clarify all the issues before he could relax.

“You are slender certainly but your bones do not all stick out. They did. They don't anymore. You are long and lean and so beautiful it makes my mouth dry.” _John had to be joking. Sherlock spent a lot of money at the tailors and all of them agreed that Sherlock was strangely shaped_.

“I've got disturbing habits, especially regarding experimentation and Mycroft's had me tested. Several times.” Did John have any idea? Of course they had known one another for several years but John was strangely unobservant. Sherlock hadn't fabricated the description of high-functioning sociopath out of thin air. His family had considered having him sectioned after they'd found out. Obviously it was patently untrue because Sherlock was certain he was in love with John. Could John really care for Sherlock as well? It was better if John learned the worst, the last of everything.

“Mycroft likes to let you think you are damaged somehow or even broken. It keeps you under his thumb. You're odd but there's nothing wrong with you. Yes some of your experiments are a bit off but that's just part of you. You think in ways other people don't, the way other people can't. You _see_ , you _really_ see what life is and you don't flinch. You just look deeper so you can understand even more and it's just the most incredible thing I've ever witnessed in my whole life. The kind of dedication you have, how fearless you are. Nothing stops you. You put your own body second in importance to your mind and it's beautiful. If you're strange then that's perfectly fine with me. It works for me. It does it for me. I've never gotten enough of being around you Sherlock, surely you see that? I've walked away from every single thing that I've worked to gain just to be with you more and I've never been happier. Life is approaching almost total perfection for me and its bliss. I know you're used to thinking negative things about yourself but I know you. I know all the awful little things about you and the horrible big things too and it still hasn't stopped me from falling for you.”

“I've killed.” whispered Sherlock. _He hadn't told John about that. It was too big. Sherlock could hardly think on it. His mind shied away from that room of his mind palace. That room was buried deep in the basement, far away from everything else. Sherlock had tried to avoid the necessity but it had come down to a rather bitter choice. Sherlock knew he had lost everything when John stilled_.

“I know.” _How? Sherlock hadn't said a thing. He hadn't told John anything about his time away that would even hint at what had really happened_. John looked at Sherlock. “I saw it in your face, in your eyes the second you came home. There's was a look about you, something I recognized. I was in the army a long time Sherlock. I know what people look like after they've killed and what they look like when they've never harmed a soul. You used to have a certain innocence in your face. It's gone now and it will never come back. It's okay though. I'm the same. I'll never _not_ be a killer ever again. Neither will you.”

Sherlock didn't know what to say. He'd never had this before. _Unconditional acceptance_. That's what John gave him, what nobody else had ever offered. Sherlock's family had been aghast with how Sherlock had turned out. They'd grieved after his faked death in a polite very proper kind of way and as far as Sherlock could tell he was still dead to all of them, all except Mycroft. Sherlock felt he should say something, maybe thank John for his words, for his wonderfulness but that became rather difficult because John's tongue was now down Sherlock's throat.

“I love you Sherlock. I've wanted you for so long. I'm glad you don't want to wait. I couldn't do it. I want you too much. I need to touch you Sherlock, feel you. I want to know every inch of you the way absolutely no one else in the world knows you, the way I'll never let anyone ever know you. You're mine, don't forget that. Only me.” John's kisses were hot and almost damp. Sherlock discovered he was trembling as John clung to him, kissing Sherlock as if the world would end if he stopped.

Words became unnecessary. John was in control now and Sherlock for once was happy to not lead. He allowed himself to be lain onto his now freshly made up bed, to allow John to kiss his mouth, his neck, his chest. A small gasp escaped him as John laved his deliciously pink tongue over Sherlock's nipple. Sherlock didn't understand why John's touch affected him so strongly. No one's touch ever had. Maybe that was part of it all. Sherlock was only for John and no one would ever have John except Sherlock, not ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll leave you here to dream of what happens after...


End file.
